Bounce
by Fluffy-CSI
Summary: FINISHED: GS. A postep for Playing With Fire. Grissom goes after Sara, but what happens next?
1. How do you wait for heaven?

Title: Bounce

Spoilers: Playing with Fire. Possibly anything leading up to that, but I don't really think so.

Archiving: . Anyone else, ask permission and I'll probably say yes.

Notes: This is just something I've been dabbling at. It's partly an attempt at Drakkenfryre's "Make Grissom Suffer" challenge, partly just me wasting paper. Anyway, as you'll see, it's nowhere near done yet. Which is the reason I say I've been dabbling at it, kinda in between chapters of MPL. Anyway, hope you enjoy what I have of this story. Feel free to send me feedback at

More notes: This is a G/S fic. Or at least it will be. So don't flame me when you read this part - keep telling yourselves that it's all part of the plot development to get Grissom and Sara together.

"Sara! Sara!" Grissom called, walking quickly toward her retreating form.

Sara kept walking, refusing to look at him. "Go home, Grissom. My ego can only take two shreddings a day and you've used them both up." She waved a hand over her shoulder as though he were a pesky insect. She didn't hold the front doors for him as she passed through them, though he was only inches behind her.

"Ow! Dammit, Sara . . ."

"Go HOME, Grissom."

"No," he said flatly.

Sara whirled around to face him. "Why the hell not? Jesus, Grissom, I just threw myself at you and you turned me down flat. Do you want to rub some more salt in the wound or something?

"Ow!" she growled as Grissom grabbed her upper arm. "What the hell!" Grissom's face was inches from hers as he pushed her insistently into a small niche.

"Just shut up, Sara. I'm trying to talk you and you're running away." He wasn't surprised that Sara only pursed her mouth and gave him a sour look. "I thought you were ballsier than this." As he'd expected, that got a reaction.

"My balls are plenty big, Grissom. In fact, judging by tonight, they're a hell of a lot bigger than yours!" She tore her arm from his grasp and headed for the parking lot again.

Grissom heaved a sigh. "I'm trying to apologize, Sara!" he called after her. "Would you rather leave and keep telling yourself I'm not sorry about what just happened?"

"You know, Grissom, I don't care at this point. Just let me be. I need to think."

"I'm not giving you a choice. Come on." He grabbed her left hand and almost fell over backwards when she screamed.

"Let GO! Ow, shit!"

Suddenly realizing that he had just squeezed her stitched hand, Grissom dropped it like it was a hot iron. "I'm sorry, Sara. Here, let me take a look."

Before he could get a grip on it again, Sara snatched it out of his grasp. "I think once was enough, ok? Just . . . let me go home."

Grissom shook his head and took a much gentler grip on her right wrist. "No, Sara. Please? Let me feed you, at least, to make up for it."

She gave him a furious look. "As I recall, Grissom, you just turned me down when I asked you to get something to eat with me. Are you having memory problems?"

Grissom gave up. He clamped an arm around her waist and began to propel her toward his car. Sara began to protest and he hissed in her ear, "Shush, Sara. Do you want to explain this to everyone?" She growled and dug in her heels, refusing to walk. Grissom simply lifted her slightly off the ground to avoid the friction and kept walking, trying to ignore the squirming woman who was muttering obscenities in his ear.

Sara's mind finally processed what was going on and she began to wonder why she was struggling. Grissom was whisking her off to his car with his arm around her waist . . . and she was trying to kick him in the shin? Helloooo! She went limp, forcing Grissom to carry almost all of her weight.

He finally reached the side of his car and dropped her against it with a grunt. "Change your mind?" he asked her with a raised eyebrow.

"We'll see," she said suspiciously. "Where are we going?"

He shrugged. "Your choice. My house or the diner."

She sighed. "I have a feeling we won't want this to happen in public, whatever 'this' is going to be. Your house, then."

Grissom gave her a surprised look at that. Quickly, while she wasn't paying attention, he grabbed for her left wrist, bringing the injured hand up so that he could look at it. A spot of blood about the size of a dime was spreading on her bandage. "Shit," he muttered. "I think I popped one of your stitches. Looks like dinner will have to wait – we're off to the hospital now."

"I'm fine, Grissom. I told you that. I don't need new stitches." She pulled her hand from his grasp and gave him a dirty look. "Can we just go eat?"

"No, Sara. Do I need to walk you through this? Stitches are meant to help your wound heal. If you break the stitches, not only are you letting the cut open to infection, but you're slowing the healing process and making it more likely that you'll end up with a scar."

"I don't CARE!" Sara nearly shouted. She shoved Grissom back and strode quickly to her own car, digging the keys out of her pocket as she went. Grissom was shouting after her, but she tuned him out. She just wanted to get in the car and lock the doors before he caught up with her.

Just as he reached for the door handle, Grissom heard the locks snap shut. He jumped back, knowing what was coming next, and true to form, a pale-faced Sara floored it out of the parking lot. He sighed. It was no use going after her; he knew she wouldn't let him into her apartment.

That evening he went to work even earlier than he usually did. The lab was still being fixed and he needed to supervise. Or at least that's what he told himself. The real reason, he knew, was that he was hoping he could catch Sara alone before shift started.

To his disappointment, Sara Sidle the workaholic did not arrive for her 8PM shift until 7:59. By that time the rest of the team, Grissom included, were gathered in the break room. Grissom was flipping through the folder of current cases, trying not to think about his idiocy; Nick and Warrick, seated next to each other, were alternately whispering to each other and directing dirty looks in Grissom's direction; and Catherine, determined to put in her time, suspension or no, was giving all four of them bemused looks, wondering what was going on.

When Sara breezed in, looking unconcerned, she took the seat on Nick's other side. Leaning over to squeeze his arm, she said something quietly to him. Grissom could only catch the words "thank you" and "night."

"Are you about ready, Sidle?" he asked waspishly.

Sara only nodded serenely and listened with half an ear as Grissom assigned her, along with Nick, to a case as far from his as possible. Big surprise there, she thought to herself. He was already regretting chasing her out last night. Reason number 312 why she and Grissom would never happen, she thought with a small, bitter smile. "Move on, Sara," she reminded herself. After last night she knew he wasn't ever going to come around, so why was she still so focused on him? The hell with that!

Nick could tell Sara was hung up on something. He knew her well enough that he could have noticed it even if she weren't letting him lead her through the parking lot by the arm, staring ahead, deep in thought, but the fact that she was indeed doing those things made it that much more obvious.

"What's up, Sar?"

He wasn't surprised when she muttered, "Fine." She wasn't paying any attention to him or to the fact that she was about to trip over a curb. Nick pulled her back just in time to prevent the latter, shaking her back into reality for a moment.

"Don't bullshit me, Sara," he said in a stern tone. "I asked what's up with you tonight, and you ignored me. Spit it out, hon."

Sara sighed. "Just Grissom, as usual." As they got in the Tahoe, she settled back in her seat dejectedly. "It's over."

"What?"

"I'm giving up on him. He's never gonna come around and we all know it. I'm sure everyone's laughing at me for pining after him for all these years."

"No one's laughing at you, Sara. I think that everyone who's aware of your thing with him – and that's not as many people as you think – has pretty much decided Grissom's insane to be brushing you off."

She shook her head. "Yeah, right. Well, I am SO done with him now. Seriously. I wasted three years of my friggin' life on that man, and what'd I get back? Headaches and faint praise. Screw him!"

"Hey, whatever Sara. You know the rest of us are gonna support you whether you keep mooning after him or not."

"Mooning!" Sara buried her face in her hands, moaning in embarrassment.

Nick reached over and rubbed her back. In typical Nick fashion, he said, "Come on Sara. It'll be ok. So maybe Grissom doesn't get it. The rest of us get it. _I_ get it."

She managed to look up and offer him a weak smile. "Thanks. At least I know I've got you. Hey, um, you wanna get pizza or something tonight? I want to go out. Assert my independence and all."

"Sure," Nick grinned, and swung the Tahoe into a parking spot at the convenience store they were supposed to process.

"Yo, man," Warrick prodded when he and Grissom were at their own scene. "What's up with you and Sara lately?"

"Not your business, Warrick," Grissom said over his shoulder.

"She's upset."

"Whether Sara is upset or not has nothing to do with me."

Warrick carefully put away his dusting brush and straightened up. "What are you smoking, Grissom? You know it always has something to do with you."

"No, Warrick," Grissom said, standing to face the younger man. "I don't know any such thing. What I know is that Sara is a very emotional woman and that she takes everything to heart."

"I'd take it to heart too if I had gathered every shred of my courage, asked someone out, and been turned down flat. With an insulting look thrown in for good measure."

Grissom scowled. "I see that nothing stays quiet very long at CSI. Has Sara been telling everyone?"

Warrick shook his head in disbelief. "You don't know her very well if you believe that. I only know because she had Nick over last night, started crying, and spilled the whole thing."

"Nick?"

"Yeah, Nick," Warrick told him sarcastically. "Brown-haired guy, about yea tall? From Texas? Works with us every night of the week?"

"I know who Nick is," Grissom snapped. "I just didn't know that he and Sara spent so much time at each other's homes." He would not feel jealous, he told himself. Sara was free to see whomever she pleased, especially after last night.

Only a blind man could miss the consternation that was drifting across Grissom's face. And Warrick wasn't blind. "Not like that, Gris. At least not yet," he added slyly.

He was being played with now, Grissom decided. "Enough chatter, Warrick. Let's try doing some work, please? I would like to get back to the lab sometime before end of shift."

"Whatever you say," Warrick said lightly, retrieving his dusting brush. "You're the boss."

As it turned out, even hardly speaking each other, it still took Grissom and Warrick until 7AM to finish gathering the evidence. It seemed like every person in Las Vegas had left their prints on the cashier's counter that night.

As they walked into the building, they passed Sara and Nick going the other way.

"Hey, where're you two off to so early?" Warrick asked with a grin.

"Finished our case. Easiest one we've had in months," Sara told him. "So we're going out to get some breakfast."

Warrick considered. "Hmm . . . where you guys gonna be? Maybe I'll stop by once me and the bossman have finished with our stuff."

"Well, we're going to be at the Yuma diner," Sara said slowly. "But we, uh . . . this is just for the two of us, ok? We'll have breakfast with you another time."

Nick's face registered surprise when Sara spoke. He hadn't known that Sara wanted to go just with him, and he wondered whether it was a good sign or bad. Too bad she was still fixated on Grissom, despite what she said, he reflected. She was his kind of girl, but Grissom had somehow laid silent claim to her long ago. Figuring he ought to say something, he threw in, "Yeah, sorry bro." Less was more when it came to supporting one of Sara's on-the-spot decisions. He got a brilliant smile in return.

"So, we ready to go?" he asked, holding out an elbow for her to hook her arm through.

"Yep!" Sara responded sweetly. Giving a befuddled Grissom and a smiling Warrick a nod, she followed Nick out the door.

"Guess we gotta revise that 'not yet' part, huh Gris?" Warrick said quietly. "Good thing you really don't want her like that. You'd be pretty pissed off right now if you did, I bet."


	2. Something like this only happens to dumb...

"Alright, so tell me why we had to eat alone," Nick said once they were seated at the diner.

Sara smiled. "Because . . . you're Nick, and I like spending time with you."

"Well, yeah," he said with a self-effacing grin, "I'm pretty sure my name is Nick. But you like spending time with Warrick too, at least when you guys aren't fighting. So why exclude him?"

"Maybe I just wanted to get you alone," Sara said, fluttering her eyelashes. "And take advantage of you."

Nick laughed. "Well in that case, take all the advantage you want." When Sara didn't laugh with him, he opened his eyes and raised a brow. "That was a joke, Sara. You're supposed to laugh," he informed her, then took a sip of water.

"I wasn't joking."

Nick was so shocked that he spit out the mouthful of liquid, leaving Sara with a wet neck and a spot on her shirt. Immediately looking contrite, Nick grabbed his napkin and started dabbing at the damage. "Sorry babe. I just didn't know you could deadpan so well."

Sara jerked away. "I wasn't deadpanning, and I wasn't joking!" She reached out a hand for his.

"Whoa there, Sara," Nick managed, removing his hand from the vicinity. "This is Nick you're talking to. Remember? Best friend?"

"Best friends have been known to date."

"Well not these best friends! Sara, you're majorly rebounding from Grissom. I just happen to be here while you're doing it." This was not good, he thought. She had no idea how much he wished what she were saying was actually the truth. Sara Sidle was being a tease, he thought, whether she realized it or not. "Come on, don't be playing with my delicate emotions," he said, trying for humor.

"If you're just going to make fun of me, I'm out of here," Sara said tightly as she grabbed her purse and stood up.

Gentling his voice, Nick gripped her wrist. "Hey, hey, hold on. I'm not making fun of you. I'm just, uh, you caught me by surprise. How about we leave that topic alone for now and eat our breakfast in peace, ok? If you still want to talk about, uh . . . that . . . tonight, then we can."

Sara sighed. "Ok, Nick. Fine." "Oh," she added, "Can we go to that new bar instead or for pizza? I'm more in the mood for beer than cheese."

Nick thought he could see where this was going. Why was she suddenly chasing him? Well, he knew the reason, of course – the whole rebound thing – but why did she have to come to him? Why couldn't she have started chasing Warrick, who would have been indifferent to the attack?

"Yeah, sure. Beer it is," he finally said.

Nick only had two beers that night. He was acutely nervous to be out with Sara after the morning's conversation. He also felt that he'd be responsible for anything she did tonight that she'd regret tomorrow, so he was keeping a keen eye on her. 

Despite his efforts to restrain her, Sara had just finished her fourth beer, and he knew she hadn't eaten since they'd gone to the diner. She was currently out on the dance floor with some guy she didn't know, and dancing too close for his comfort. He was surprised it wasn't too close for her comfort too, considering her usual restraint with men, but he supposed beer could do that – especially large amounts of beer consumed by a woman who couldn't weigh more than 120 pounds.

The song Sara had been dancing to ended, and before another partner could grab her, Nick strode onto the dance floor and pulled her off it. "What are you _doing_, Sara?" he hissed. "Do you realize you were grinding with a complete stranger?"

"So what? It's not like there's anyone to get jealous about it. Not Grissom, not you."

Nick winced. Ouch, that one had stung. "Of course I'm jealous, Sara. I was your 'date' tonight, not some stranger."

Though he had been using the word date figuratively, the subtlety was lost on his drunken companion. "Date, hah. That's not what you said this morning."

"I didn't mean it like that, Sara. I meant that . . ." What _had_ he meant by it? "I meant that you invited me here. So it would only be polite to dance with me instead of strangers."

She took a step back and angled her head up to look him in the face. "Do you want to dance, Nick?" she asked gallantly.

"Certainly, dear. But no grinding."

"Why not?"

Oh, god. Nick couldn't think of a good reason for that one. "Because I'm the man and I say so."

"Hah," Sara said with a slightly drunken grin, and pulled him behind her to the floor.

"Sara, no," he said ten minutes later. They were back standing by the bar and she was too close for comfort.

"Dammit Nick, why not?" she said, stamping her foot childishly. When he didn't answer, she tapped a hand on the bar to signal the bartender. The contact made her wince. Her stitched hand wasn't healing very well, but she'd be damned if she'd admit it after what Grissom had said about her not taking care of it.

Smiling defiantly at his disapproving face, she asked for another beer and grabbed for it when the bartender slid it toward her. She missed, though, and before she could try again, Nick had grabbed it off the bar and finished it in a few gulps.

"No more for you, Sara, I told you."

"I only had four. That was your third. How come you're not cutting yourself off?" She was perilously close to whining. 

"Because, my dear, I'm not nearly as skinny as you," he said, poking her in the stomach, "and I can handle three beers. You, however, apparently can't." He took a close look at her. "Oh, forget it. I'm taking you home before you get yourself in any more trouble." He slapped a twenty on the bar, grabbed her hand, and began weaving through the crowd, towing his recalcitrant colleague behind him.

Sara dug in her heels but, as Grissom had done the other day, Nick simply removed the friction. "Come ON, Sara. You don't get a choice in this."

"I really, really wish men would stop saying that to me!"

Nick shook his head. "Fine, Sara. Your choice right now is either let me take you home, or I'm gonna call Warrick to _drag_ your drunk ass there."

Sara grunted unhappily, but allowed him to stuff her into the car.

"No, Sara," Nick said again when she asked him to walk her into her apartment. Why was he having to say no so much tonight? He'd never seen Sara acting like this before. 

"Please?"

"No!"

"Then I'm not getting out of the car, Nick."

"I'll drag you."

"No you won't."

"You're right, I won't," he acceded. "But still, you have to move, Sar. I'm not taking you home with me. God knows that the way you're acting tonight, you'd climb into bed with me."

"Yeah, Nick. I think I get the point," she said in a voice that was somewhere between cold and tearful.

He felt like he'd just kicked a puppy. "Oh, fine. You know, for someone so bad at socialization, you're damn good with manipulating people."

"I know," she grinned, and got out. Nick followed her, wondering what the hell he was going to do if she started trying to . . . do that again. He was running out of both willpower and patience.

To his consternation, but not to his surprise, she did. "Listen, Sara," he said, trying again to talk some sense into her, "Grissom is my friend. I'm not going to start dating his whatever-you-are."

"How many times have I told you this, Nick? I'm not anything to him. He made that really clear, so it's not like he can turn around and say I was his girlfriend or something. And I'm not, anyway. I told you a million times that I'm done with him."

Nick gave up on trying to convince her. "What do you want from me, Sara?"

"A date? A real one?"

"Sara . . ."

"Listen, Nick. You think I'm drunk and acting weird. Ever stop to consider that maybe this is how I act when I'm not convinced I'm in love with someone?"

"No. This isn't you."

Sara knew this wasn't her usual behavior. But then, she'd never had someone do to her what Grissom had done. Wasn't she entitled to another relationship if she wanted it, rebound or not? "Guess what. I'm saying these things. This is my body. That means this is me talking to you."

Nick surrendered with a groan. "Fine, Sara. A date. We can go out to dinner or something at somewhere other than a diner. But I'm not bringing you flowers or chocolates."

"Did I ask for them?"

"Can I go home now?"

Sara sighed. "You could show a little more enthusiasm, Nick. If you really find me that unpleasant, just say so and be done with it."

Nick sighed. That was his cue to exit. "Time for me to go, Sara. Like I said, I'm not spending the night in the same apartment as you. You might rape my poor self." He bent down and gave her a quick kiss, then hightailed it out to his car.


	3. I wanna talk about me, wanna talk about ...

For the rest of the week, Sara generally arrived to work an hour early, at 7:00. She didn't seem upset, Grissom thought to himself. Maybe it really had been just infatuation. 

It was nagging at him, though. He had to know whether she really cared about him or whether it had just been the adrenaline rush from the explosion speaking. Sara seemed to be artfully avoiding him, though – somehow, every time he approached her when she was alone, either someone else appeared or she left.

After eight days of stealth, though, he finally managed to corner her in the break room an hour before shift started. "Can I talk to you, Sara?"

She harrumphed. "Doesn't look like I have a choice. What do you want, Grissom?"

Taking a deep breath, Grissom said, "I want to talk to you about last week. The night you asked me to have dinner with you."

"Oh, that?" she said brightly. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. One of those nights, you know?"

"No, I don't know, Sara. Explain it to me."

She shrugged. "You know how it is, infatuation and all that. But hey, don't worry, you made it clear that – hey, Nick!" she called, interrupting herself. Ducking out from where Grissom had her nearly pinned against the wall, she threw herself at Nick and gave him a big hug. 

Nick swung her around and kissed her cheek. "Hi yourself, Miss Excitement. What's up?"

Grissom watched in horror as it dawned on him that he may very well have lost Sara to a man he considered a good friend.

"Nothing," she said casually. "Grissom was just asking me about that night last week, you know the one."

Nick nodded. "Yeah. You didn't mind talking about it? You were pretty upset that night when I came over."

"Nah, I'm fine. I have something else to occupy my time thinking about," she said with a wink.

Grissom cleared his throat.

"Oh!" Sara said. "Sorry, Gris. Forgot you were there."

"Apparently so," Grissom responded. "Do you two have anything you should tell me about?"

"Nope," they chorused.

Grissom frowned. "If there's an office romance going on between you two, I need to know about it. If for no other reason, to cover for you with the rest of the staff." He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. He was offering to encourage a relationship between Sara, his Sara, and Nick?

No, he reminded himself. She wasn't his Sara anymore. He wondered if she would have been if he'd said "yes" that night. Too late now, he supposed. Why did he always end up digging his hole too deep to escape when it came to his relationships with women? "Nick? May I have Sara back for a minute, please? You can have her again when I'm done."

That sentence could be a metaphor for the whole disaster that was playing out, Nick thought. "Sure, Gris. Sara, I'll be over with Greg when you're done." He grinned at her and left the room.

Grissom rubbed his forehead, where he felt a migraine coming on. "Sara? Are you in a relationship with Nick?"

"Oh, I don't know, Grissom. Let's just say we're seeing each other."

"When did this happen?"

"Is it any of your business?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm your supervisor, Sara. I need to know what's going on with my CSIs."

"Fine, fine. Since . . . hmm, about a week now."

A week, Grissom's mind screamed. It had been approximately a week since he had told her "no." Had she run straight into Nick's arms? "A week?" he mused out loud. "So you were kidding when you asked me to dinner." He clamped his mouth shut, flushing slightly. He hadn't meant to say that out loud!

"No, Gris. I was serious then. But, like I said, once you told me that I had no chance, I decided to get on with my life." She smiled lightly. "I'm only thirty-one. Couldn't exactly spend the next fifty or sixty years of my life pining after some guy who thinks of me as a daughter."

Fifty years? Was she planning on spending the rest of her life with NICK? She was too good for him, Grissom thought angrily. Nick still acted like he was a twenty-year-old frat boy, not an adult with a serious job in law enforcement. Well, that wasn't exactly fair, he admitted to himself. Nick sometimes had bursts of insight. But still, he was just too brash and outgoing for someone like Sara.

What came out of his mouth, though, was, "I don't think of you as a daughter."

"Protégé, then," Sara said. "You know what I mean."

Grissom started to deny that too, then cut himself off. What was the use? She was lost to him now. She was in love with Nick, a thought that made Grissom shudder.

"Ok, then, Sara," he said, feeling like he was bleeding inside. "Go on and catch up with Nick. Just, Sara . . ." He stopped, unsure of himself. "If you ever need anyone to talk to . . . you know where I live."

Sara smiled wearily. "I know where you live, yeah. But I'd never burden you with my romance problems. You're not exactly the expert." With that parting shot, she headed out of the break room and started toward the DNA lab.

Grissom winced, but acknowledged that she was right. Who was he kidding? He hadn't had a serious relationship with a woman since he worked in LA. Sighing heavily, he made his way back to his office and fell into his desk chair. 

Catherine, as though sensing something was wrong, entered the room a minute later. "You ok, Gris?"

"Yeah," he said. "Migraine."

"That's not 'ok,' idiot. Where're your meds?"

"Bottom drawer. But I'm not taking them now or I'll be out of it." He shrugged, the regretted it because of the pain it caused in his head. "I'll be fine."

Catherine sighed. "At least take an OTC painkiller, then. Take _something_, or you'll be no good to the rest of us all night."

"I'm no good to half of you anyway," he said with a bitter smile.

"Huh?" Catherine shrugged when he did 't answer. "Just take the damn pills. I'll help you out if you get dizzy."

Grissom did as ordered. After checking his mouth to make sure he'd swallowed them, as though he were a child, Catherine patted his shoulder gently and left him alone.

Just as he was beginning to relax with the drug's effect, a knock came on the door. "Yeah," Grissom mumbled, in too much pain to care who it was. Until, that is, the door opened and Nick appeared. Grissom sat straight up, stiffening.

"Uh, hi," Nick offered. Grissom only looked at him steadily, so Nick continued. "I just wanted to, uh, make sure you're ok with me and Sara. I know how close you two were."

_Were_. Not any longer, Grissom's masochistic brain reminded him. "Well apparently she was closer to you than I thought," he said nastily.

Nick swallowed. "Yeah, that was what I was worried about. We were only friends, you know. Then last week, you . . . you know. Told her there was nothing there. So I took her out for a drink so she could relax, and it kind of went from there."

_Told her there was nothing there_, Grissom thought. Every word Nick said was reverberating through his brain, and not because of the headache. Had he really come off as though he were telling her that he didn't care? Apparently so. Sara believed he thought of her as a daughter, and Nick thought Grissom didn't care for her at all.

"She gave you every chance," Nick said defensively, unable to tolerate the silence any longer. "And you pushed her away one time too many. She's not a yo-yo, Grissom, and there had to be a time when the string broke. Last week was it. And now she's seeing me, and she doesn't have to wonder about whether I care about her or not."

"I know," Grissom said. "And I hope you treat her well, Nick. You'd better treat her well. I'll know if you don't." He hoped he sounded threatening and not just bitter. If Nick didn't take care of Sara, Grissom didn't know what he would do, but it probably wouldn't be pretty.

"I will," Nick said. "I, uh, guess I'll be going now. You look like you have a headache. Sorry." And he was gone.

Grissom leaned back once again, amazed to find there seemed to be tears pricking at his eyes. Whether from physical or mental pain, he didn't know, but he hadn't cried in years. Just went to show, he supposed, that Joni Mitchell had been right. _It always seems to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone._

Ten minutes later, the door to his office flew open with a bang. "Are you STUPID?" Catherine's angry voice demanded.

Grissom managed to open one eye to the light. "Excuse me?"

"I just saw Sara kissing Nick."

The eye closed. "Yeah, Catherine. They're dating."

"I repeat: are you stupid?"

Grissom sighed. "And why would I be stupid this time?"

"HELLO! Sara? Nick? Sara kissing someone who's not you?"

"It's a long story, Catherine. The end result is the same. If you see her kissing anyone, it'll be Nick and not me."

Catherine stared at him, open-mouthed. "You're kidding. You're just gonna . . . give up on her?"

Grissom waved a hand. "There's not much I can do about it now. I can't exactly steal her from here and lock her in my house."

"That's sounding like a good idea right now, Gil. I can't believe this. You're just going to let Sara slip away?" She sank down in a chair, genuinely distressed by the thought.

"As I said, Cath, there's nothing I can do now. Sara made her choice, and she seems to be happy. I'm not going to try to take away that happiness now that she's found it."

"She's rebounding, Grissom! She thinks you don't care!"

"Actually, she thinks I see her as a daughter rather than a love interest."

"Same difference. I can't believe this," she repeated. "What did you SAY to her to make her do this?"

Grissom opened his eyes. "Listen, Catherine. Sara is her own person. I can't make her do anything. If I could, my life would be a lot easier. I can't, though, and she's happy with Nick. I can't change things now. And I forbid you to treat her badly, Catherine," he said, reading her mind. "She's free to make her own choices. I don't want her hearing that you disapprove."

Catherine sighed. "This isn't right, Grissom."

"In real life, Cath, there is no 'right'. There's only 'true'."


	4. If it makes you happy, then why are you ...

It was against Catherine's nature to not vocalize intense feelings. She couldn't believe what was happening. She couldn't believe Sara's nerve, dating someone other than Grissom. She couldn't believe _Grissom's_ nerve for pushing Sara that far!

She stomped into the break room only to see Sara and Nick leaning close to each other in conversation.

"Oh, for Christ's SAKE, guys!" she yelled, throwing down the pad of paper she'd been holding. They jumped apart and guiltily looked at her. "I don't care what you two do," Catherine continued in a quieter voice, "but don't do it in the break room in front of everyone else. I want to keep my breakfast down, okay?"

"Um, sorry Cath," Nick said with a smile in his voice.

"I'm dead serious, guys," Catherine said. "I don't want to see it. Grissom doesn't want to see it. Warrick doesn't want to see it. Greg might, but I suggest you charge him by the minute."

Sara shot Nick a quelling look. "Yeah, uh, sorry. We didn't know you were coming in here. Nick said you and Grissom were hanging out in his office. With the lights out." This last was said in a harsh voice.

Catherine hid a smile. The feeling wasn't dead, but it sure as hell was buried deep now. Sara snuggling with Nick was just a frightening sight. She shuddered delicately. "Well, Grissom's got a migraine tonight, so go easy on him, ok? No PDAs."

Sara shot her a dirty look. "Like we would, Catherine? Can we just get started?"

"Waiting for Warrick and Grissom. Remember? You two aren't the whole of the team?"

Despite Nick's restraining hand, Sara shot up out of her chair angrily. "Listen, Catherine. This is my life. I don't give a good damn whether you like it or not, but if you don't stop whining and complaining about me IN FRONT OF ME, I'm going to scream! And then I'm going to write up an official complaint about your behavior!"

"Oooh," Catherine responded, "I'm real scared, Sara."

"Would you two STOP IT?" Grissom boomed as he entered the room. "The entire lab can hear you arguing, and I don't think they appreciate it. I certainly don't appreciate it." 

He walked toward them. "Sara, sit," he ordered. Looking disgruntled, Sara did so. Nick quickly took a firm hold on her arm so she couldn't escape again. "Catherine, you too. Other end of the table." As she walked past him, he whispered angrily, "What did I tell you about this?" Catherine shrugged unconcernedly. Just as they were sitting down, Warrick strolled in, having missed the whole drama.

Grissom looked around the table. "Do I need to remind you all that we are professionals?" The group shook their heads. "Good. Then let's try doing work tonight instead of squabbling." He passed around assignment slips. "Catherine, Nick – you take the burglary. Warrick, you're going solo on a store robbery." He paused, then passed Sara the last slip. "Sara, you're with me."

Sara frowned, but said nothing. "Well?" Grissom continued. "Work to do, guys. Move!" 

Sara cast Catherine one last fuming look as the blonde left the room, then stood up. "Ok, so what are we working tonight?"

"You and I are staying here tonight. There's a mountain of paperwork."

"You're kidding. I have to stay here and do paperwork all night while Catherine gets to go out in the field? What is this, a punishment for fighting with your girlfriend or something?"

Grissom sighed. "I don't know what she said to you, Sara, but I apologize for it. I spoke to her and asked her to respect your choice. Apparently she disobeyed my request."

"It's not your job to tell Catherine how to treat me, Grissom. If she wants to be a bitch – sorry, but that's what she was – then you can't stop her."

Grissom sighed again, feeling very old. "Please, Sara, don't argue. Can we just get this paperwork done? It's not a punishment. I just think you need some time."

"Time to do what, Grissom? Cool off so I don't hit her? Done. Let my hand heal? Done." A little white lie like that couldn't hurt. "I'm fine. I don't need you to give me any 'time'."

Grissom didn't respond, just shoved a pile of clearance forms toward her. Still grumbling, Sara got to work.

"Sara?" Grissom asked an hour later. "Are you happy?"

"With what?"

Grissom shrugged. "With Nick . . . with yourself . . . with your relationships with the team members?"

Sara set down her pen and rubbed her eyes. "I don't know what you mean by 'happy'. I'm not planning on leaving CSI, if that's what you're asking. Obviously Catherine has some problems with me, but other than that . . . I get along fine with Warrick. With Nick, obviously." She sighed. "Does that answer your question?"

"No. I didn't ask whom you got along with. I asked if you were happy."

"I don't know. I'm content, I guess. Are _you_ happy?" she shot back at him.

"No, Sara, I'm not happy." Sara raised an eyebrow and he answered her unspoken question. "I worry about my people. I worry about you, especially, because I know how you put your whole self into things."

Sara smiled. "I'm fine, Grissom. I'm happy, ok?"

"And stubborn," Grissom added. "And secretive. And reclusive."

"Gee, Grissom. Don't hold back from telling me what you really feel," Sara said with a wounded look.

"These aren't insults. In fact, what you are is very much what I was ten or fifteen years ago."

"Tall, female, and brunette?"

"Very funny. I think most of the team would agree that I'm still stubborn, secretive, and reclusive, to some degree, but I've learned to balance it over the years."

Sara snorted.

"Laugh if you will, Sara, but I'm the one with a more stable life. I don't boyfriend-hop, for one thing."

Sara threw her pen at him. "I knew you had an ulterior motive. Listen, Grissom, if you don't like me dating Nick, that's too bad. You can't stop it."

"I'm not trying to, Sara. I'm just trying to . . . give you examples or your possible instabilities." He wasn't doing any such thing, of course. He was complaining.

Sara felt her anger bubbling to the surface. "You know, I'm sick of this! You tell me to get a life and I get one, then you punish me for it. You tell me you're not interested din me, but when I find someone who is, you complain about it. You, Gil Grissom, are the most perverse person I know! I don't know why I put up with it."

She stood up and shoved the pile of paper at him. "You deal with this. You only wanted me here so you could bitch at me, and I'm not listening anymore, so my job is over here."

Grissom stood up and faced her, noting her rigid stance and pale face. "Are you all right, Sara? Physically, I mean? You don't look good."

"I'm fine."

"That what you told me last time, and you needed ten stitches in your hand that time."

"I said I'm fine, Grissom. We already went over this. You're not responsible for my health, you're not responsible for me happiness, and you're not responsible for my love life."

Grissom walked around the table toward her. "You're not fine. Did you get that broken stitch fixed?" Sara said nothing, but when he reached out to touch her arm, she jumped away.

"Don't touch me."

"You wanted me to touch you a week ago, Sara."

"That's not now. I don't want anyone who doesn't care about me touching me."

Grissom crossed his arms and regarded her with concern. "Do you really believe, Sara, that I don't care about you?"

"You said it, not me," she said bitterly, then bit her lip.

Grissom glared at her. "You're in pain. You didn't get the stitch fixed. Dammit Sara, you could have a serious infection now!" 

He grabbed her arm before she could pull it back, and Sara began to struggle. "Let me GO!" she screamed, bringing Bobby and Greg running.

"Grissom? What's going on?" Grissom heard Greg's confused voice, but was too busy trying to control Sara's flailing to turn his head.

"Greg," he replied calmly, "Are you strong enough to hold her?"

"Uh . . ."

"Between me and him," Bobby cut in, "we can control her. What's wrong?"

"I think she's got an infection in her hand wound. She broke the stitches a week ago and hasn't had them fixed."

"I am FINE!" Sara yelled. "My hand is fine! Leave me the hell alone!"

"No, Sara. Ready guys?" The two younger men nodded and Grissom passed Sara neatly into their arms. When they had her in a secure grip, Grissom took her hand, trying to tune out the insults she was hurling at him, and began to unwrap it.

He could see red-streaked flesh through the last few layers of gauze and his gaze shot up to Sara's face. She had stopped struggling, for the most part, and was watching him with an unreadable look on her face. Grissom finished unwrapping her hand and sucked in his breath. The wound was open, white, and slightly oozing.

"Your hand is infected, Sara," he said calmly – almost too calmly. "This is how Ashley James died, you know. Untreated open wounds. Are you insane?" His voice rose. "You could DIE, Sara!"

Her face was now turned away. She was even paler than she had been five minutes ago, and he could see the pinched look on her face.

"I'll take her back," Grissom told Bobby and Greg. "Greg, please go pull up one of the Tahoes. I'm taking her to the hospital."

Hearing this, Sara began to struggle again. "Let me go, Grissom! I'm not going to the hospital, I'm fine!"

"You're not fine, Sara," he said in his nastiest voice. "You have a severe infection that you brought upon yourself. Why in the hell didn't you get this looked at?"

Sara turned her face away from him. Her face was damp, though with tears or sweat he didn't know. "I'm fine." Her voice was much weaker, though. Whatever energy the infection had left her had been expended in struggling with Grissom.

"You are the most stubborn person I know, Sara Sidle," he said, wiping her face gently with a paper towel. Sara didn't respond, only twitched a shoulder. "You're going to be fine, Sara," he told her quietly. "I certainly won't allow you to lose your hand or anything." She moaned when she heard that, and Grissom smiled. "That's my girl. We'll . . ." 

At that moment, he heard the sound of a car horn. Greg was out front with the Tahoe. "I'm going to carry you, Sara."

"I'm fine," she repeated. "I can walk."

"You're too weak. I don't want you to fall and hurt yourself." Before she could respond, he gently lifted her. Stroking her hair with the hand he had around her shoulders, Grissom murmured again, "You'll be fine. I'll stay with you."


	5. Why they call it falling, I don't know

Sara did not like being poked and prodded at, even when she wasn't in pain. But it took all her restraint not to scream now when the emergency room doctor squeezed her wound experimentally. Instead, her good hand shot out and she clutched Grissom's arm. He winced. It felt like she was drawing blood, he thought, but unlike some people, he knew how to take care of his body so he didn't end up with a matching infection.

In the end, it took Dr. LaBianca only fifteen minutes to determine that Sara's hand was affected by cellulitis and that the offending organism was Streptococcus. 

"You're very lucky, young lady," the man admonished her. "Cellulitis can cause serious disability of the affected area if it's left alone too long, and you are right on the borderline. Leaving a strep infection unchecked for eight days . . . well, all I can say is that you are amazingly lucky, and that you should be glad that your husband forced you to come in now." 

He completely missed the bewildered looks that Sara and Grissom exchanged at hearing Grissom called her husband, and barreled on. "Now, you're going to stay here for at least 24 hours so that I can make sure that your IV antibiotics are working and that you're not allergic to them." He frowned and looked down at the mostly blank information sheet Grissom had tried to fill out for her. "Do you know if you're allergic to any antibiotics, Ms. Sidle?"

Sara shook her head. "No . . . I'm never sick. I haven't taken antibiotics for years and years. But I don't want to stay here. I'm fine, really. Can't you just give me some pills?

"Certainly not. I would be disgustingly irresponsible if I allowed you to leave now with an eight-day-old case of cellulitis, even with a husband who looks like he'd like to go hand-to-hand with the bacteria. I'm sorry, but you're stuck with me for at least the next day. Now, since you don't know if you're allergic, we'll start you on Penicillin with close observation. After a few hours you can be alone with Mr. Grissom again." 

Sara sighed and said under her breath, just loud enough for Grissom to hear, "I'm gonna get you for this." Grissom chuckled and shook his head, knowing that no matter what he had done, she would have said the same thing.

As the doctor was preparing to speak again, Grissom's cell phone rang. "Please, Mr. Grissom!" LaBianca exclaimed, his mustache quivering in indignation. "You should know better than to have a cellular phone turned on in here. Please take that outside immediately!"

Grissom flushed and muttered his assent. "I'll be right back, Sara, ok?" Sara didn't want to let go of his arm – what if the doctor squeezed again? – but, having no choice, she did.

When Grissom was gone, the doctor turned back to Sara. "Tell me the truth, young lady – would you have ever come here if you hadn't been dragged by someone who cares mightily about you?"

"He's just worried that I might have to take time off of work and then he'd be one CSI short. He's not my husband, you know. He's my boss, and he doesn't even like me."

The doctor shook his head laughingly. "Miss, I've been working in this hospital for twenty-five years, and I've seldom seen a someone as frightened for one of my patients as that man was. But I digress. You didn't answer my question: would you be here if it weren't for him?"

"No," she muttered.

"I thought so. Miss Sidle – may I call you Sara? – Sara, you need to start taking better care of yourself. You seem to be in superb athletic shape, but the fact that you were in pain and let this infection go unchecked for more than a week tells me that you hate to acknowledge weakness that you can't fix. You'll get yourself killed one day if you don't start taking responsibility for your own health, instead of leaving that up to Mr. Grissom."

"I'm not his responsibility."

"Well now, that's not my area of specialty, Sara. I'm just offering you what advice I can, and you can take it or leave it."

Just as the doctor finished speaking, Grissom pushed through the curtain and re-entered Sara's bed area. "That was, uh, Nick. Greg told him I took you to the hospital, and he wanted to come see you. I told him we'd let him know when you were settled in a room. Is that, um, ok?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah, Gris. I don't care right now. To tell the truth, I just want to go to sleep."

"We'll get you set up, then," said the doctor. "Mr. Grissom, would you like to wait down here, or would you like to come with us while we settle Sara?"

Grissom looked at Sara for her approval, but her eyes were closed. "I'll come with you," he said quickly, hesitant to let her out of his sight now.

The doctor only smiled mysteriously.

By the time they had Sara settled in a room, she was beyond exhaustion. A friendly nurse set up an IV for her – Grissom was surprised when Sara didn't even flinch – and told Sara that Dr. LaBianca would be in to check on her in about two hours to make sure she was doing well. Sara nodded almost imperceptibly at the nurse and then, to Grissom's horror, her head lolled to the side.

"She's fine, Mr. Grissom," the nurse said quietly, anticipating his reaction. "She's asleep, and the poor girl deserves all the sleep she can get." 

Grissom nodded his thanks and settled back in an uncomfortable chair. The stress of the night had taken its toll on him also, but he was too worried about Sara to allow himself to sleep. He should call Nick, he thought. But then, Sara was asleep. Having him visit while Sara slept would be pointless. Grissom knew he was rationalizing, but decided that he didn't care if it was selfish; he wanted Sara to himself for a while. He kept vigil over the sleeping woman for the rest of the night and early morning, nodding occasionally to the nurses who came to check on Sara.

Around 9AM, Grissom finally roused himself from the chair. He felt like his body had taken on the shape of the hard plastic he'd spent the last five hours in, and decided Sara would be fine while he went to get a cup of coffee.

When he walked back to her room, he paused just to the side of the doorway, surprised to hear Sara's voice, then Nick's laugh. An irrational anger surged through him. "Did you wake Sara up, Nicky?" he asked in a deceptively friendly voice as he walked in.

"She was awake. Mostly."

"It's okay, Gris," Sara said softly. "I slept longer last night than I've slept in weeks, anyway."

Grissom was not appeased. "Sara has a serious infection. I don't appreciate your waking her up when what she needs is rest, and I suspect that Dr. LaBianca wouldn't approve either."

Nick held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, it's ok. I told the doc I was family. He asked me if I was 'Miss Grissom's brother' – funny look on the man's face when he said that, but I went along with it. Did you say you were her father? Anyway, he told me it was fine to wake her up for a little while."

"I'm fine, Gris," Sara attempted to reassure him again.

"Listen, Stokes . . ." Grissom began, but was cut off when Warrick entered the room.

"And I'm her brother," the black man said with a grin. "Come on, Gris. Let's go . . . do something other than sit in here." Grissom protested, but Warrick dragged him out of the room.

"It is possible to have too much of a good thing, Gris," he said when they were in the lounge. "I'm glad you're here with Sara . . . though you look pretty scruffy, if you ask me . . .but if you try to keep Nick from talking to her, they'll both get mad."

"Nick doesn't know how to handle her, Warrick."

"Of course he does. He just has a different technique. Now chill out. You obviously got hit by the wood, huh?"

Grissom blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, sorry. Back in my neighborhood, when you got hit by a sudden revelation, we called it 'getting hit by the 2x4 of' whatever you were thinking about. In this case, you were hit by the two-by-four of love."

Grissom laughed. "That makes no sense, Warrick!"

"Ah, but it does. Think about it – didn't you feel like you got smacked hard with something when you realized it?"

"Uh . . . realized what?"

"Man!" Warrick laughed. "You are buried so deep in denial! Realized that you really do want Sara, even though you've been telling all of us, including her, the opposite. Maybe even realized that you love her?"

Grissom stood up stiffly and made no response to Warrick's comment. "I think it's time I went back to check on her."

"Hey, whatever, boss. I'll be here with my coffee."

When Grissom approached the room again, he heard Dr. LaBianca's voice. "Mr. Stokes, I know you're concerned, but I can only allow one family member to stay with her, and her husband has already laid claim to the only chair. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Visiting hours are every morning 9 to 10 and every evening from 7 to 8, so feel free to come back during those times."

"Husband??" Nick spluttered. "But he's . . ." He stopped himself before saying it, realizing that if he blew Grissom's cover, Nick's own would be blown, and then neither man would be allowed to stay with her. "Yeah. Her husband. Gil gets overprotective, though. Try to keep him out of the room as much as possible."

Dr. LaBianca leveled a hard gaze at Nick. "I'll do no such thing, young man. I'm sure you think you know what is best for your sister, but as I told you, Mr. Grissom has been with her all through this and I haven't seen any problems in his behavior. Miss Grissom seems to be much calmer when he is in the room, so I'm allowing him to stay for as long as Sara wants him there."

"Fine," Nick said angrily, then stomped off to find Warrick to complain to. 

Warrick, of course, was just enjoying the show. "Chill out, Nick. If you start going possessive on her now, you know she'll drop you as fast as she can."

Nick growled.

"Grissom," Sara was saying in her room, "please don't fight with Nick. I know you're concerned and all, but honestly, you can go home now that he's here. You have better places to be than in a hospital," she said with a crooked grin.

"No, I really don't," Grissom said, trying to sound casual. "Listen, Sara, it's my fault that your stitches broke, so I feel that it's my responsibility to stay with you."

"I don't want to be your responsibility, Grissom! Just . . . send Nick in here."

"He left."

"What?!"

"Nick left. Visiting hours are over, and the doctor made Nick and Warrick leave."

"Then why are you still here?"

"As your friendly neighborhood doctor put it, Sara, I laid claim to the only chair before Nick got here. That means I get precedence."

"That's the stupidest thing I've every heard!" Sara raged.

"Ok, ok, calm down," Grissom cautioned her. "It's not healthy for you to raise your blood pressure right now. I'll be good, I promise."

Sara gave him a dirty look, but subsided. "Try sleeping, honey," Grissom told her. "Your body needs to recharge so it can kill the infection." He reached for her hand and began stroking it gently. Within minutes, Sara had slipped into a contented sleep, still holding Grissom's hand.


	6. In the end, I wanna thank you 'cause you...

**A/N:** For those of you who wonder after reading it, a wet-to-dry bandage is, well, a bandage that goes on wet and dries. As it dries, skin and debris stick to it, and when it is pulled off, debris and weak or dead skin goes with it.

When a nurse woke Sara up for dinner that afternoon, Grissom realized that he had had his cell phone turned off all day. He needed to check his messages and return any calls. "I'll be right back, ok?" he asked Sara, who was watching the nurse bring in a covered try and salivating. She merely grunted, which Grissom took for agreement.

Three calls that needed no answer  – a call from an old friend, one from his cricket dealer, and a nasty call from Ecklie, asking why Sara's car had been in the parking lot for two days - and one message from Catherine, asking Grissom to call her on her cell, which he did.

"Hey, Cath. You asked me to call you?"

"Yeah, I figured you had your phone off in the hospital. How's Sara?"

"She's doing fine. Once they have her standing, I'm planning on wringing her neck for her stupidity."

Catherine laughed. "That's not what I heard."

"Excuse me?"

"What _I_ heard was that your inner pitbull has been coming out when people try to see Sara. You nearly bit Nick's head off!"

Grissom frowned at the phone. "He woke her up. She needs her sleep."

"Hey, whatever. I was just calling to gloat."

"I'm afraid to ask, Catherine. Gloat over what?"

"Just the fact that you're attached at the hip to Sara now. And that you booted Nick out so you could have her alone." 

"He woke her up," Grissom repeated stupidly. "What was I supposed to do, encourage that?"

"I also heard that the doctor thinks you two are married and that's the only reason he's letting you stay with her."

"I don't know anything about that, Cath. He thought I was her husband when I first brought Sara in, but I thought she had set him straight."

Catherine grinned, glad Grissom couldn't see the triumph on her face. "Maybe he just _wants_ you to be her husband, Gris. Hey, I've gotta go now, Nick's making nasty faces at me. Talk to you later!" Before Grissom could say another word, Catherine had hung up on her end.

Grissom stared at the phone for a moment, then started to dial Catherine's number again. Before he'd finished dialing, a beep informed him that he had a new text message. Upon checking, it was from Catherine. "U won't be at work, I know." Grissom sighed. How did she always read his mind like that? Mentally shrugging, he headed back into the building.

When the elevator brought him to Sara's floor, he could hear the commotion a hundred feet away. Sara's raised voice was echoing through the hallway, and he grimaced. What had she done now?

He began to hustle toward her room, only to be sidetracked by a nurse he hadn't met. "Are you that Grissom guy?"

Uh-oh. "Yes, why?"

She ran her fingers through her hair angrily. "PLEASE go calm down that woman you brought in! The nurses are ready to throw her out the window!"

Screw hustling. Grissom ran the rest of the way to Sara's room. He skidded to a stop at her bedside, staring. Sara was sitting up in bed, screaming at a cowering nurse and an annoyed doctor. "I'm a VEGETARIAN! Do you know what that means? It means I DON'T EAT MEAT!" She shoved at the tray table poised over he bed and said forlornly, "I want Grissom. Where's Grissom?"

"I'm here, Sara," Grissom said reassuringly. "What's wrong?" The nurse and the doctor both cast him grateful looks and escaped the room while they could. 

"They gave me a hamburger."

He sat down on the edge of her bed and leaned over her. "Why didn't you just ask them for a vegetarian meal, then?"

She shook her head, tears forming. "I don't know! I was confused, and I didn't know where you were, and . . . I hate hospitals, Grissom. Get me out of here."

He reached over to tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear. "I'm right here. I told you I was going to check my messages, remember?"

Sara sniffled and shook her head. "No. Are you sure you told me?"

"Yes. But you had just woken up, so you were probably disoriented. I was just downstairs returning calls. Catherine asked after you."

"Are you sure she didn't ask if I had died yet?"

"Oh come on, Sara," he said, reproof in his voice. "Catherine cares about you as much as the rest of us. She just . . . had her heart set on you dating me, and not Nick."

Sara blinked. "Oh. Well, uh . . . oh."

Grissom smiled at the confusion in her voice. As Warrick might have said, Sara had just been hit by the 2x4 of reality. "I told her that you were fine and that once you were out of here I was going to strangle you for letting your hand get this bad." He put a finger over her lips when she tried to speak. "Hold that thought. I'll go bargain for some real dinner for you."

He returned triumphantly ten minutes later carrying another tray. "The nurse you scared out of here had this made as soon as she escaped your wrath. Vegetarian stuffed peppers, I think." 

Sara smiled gratefully and ate, finishing the whole dinner in minutes. "God, I was so hungry! Did I eat at all last night?"

"Nope."

"Did you?"

"Nope. Just had some coffee."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Well, have you eaten today?"

"Uh, no. I was watching you."

"Go eat, Grissom! You're gonna waste away and then it'll be YOU in this bed and me torturing you," she said with a grin.

"Uh-uh, Sara. Look what just happened when I left you alone just now. I'll wait."

Sara frowned, then pressed the "Nurse Assistance" button next to her bed. A hesitant blonde woman appeared in the doorway a minute late. "Did you need something, Mrs. Grissom?"

"My name isn't Grissom, it's Sidle."

"Oh," the woman said. "I'm sorry, it just seemed like you and he . . ." Her voice trailed off, then returned to normal volume. "Well, did you need something, Miss Sidle?" she asked with a small smile.

"Yeah," Sara looked at the woman's nametag, "Rosa. Would it be possible to get dinner for Grissom, too? He refuses to leave me alone."

The nurse nodded. "Oh, sure. We do that a lot for concerned loved ones. Give me five minutes – are you a vegetarian too, Mr. Grissom?"

Grissom shook his head. "No, whatever you have on hand will be fine." The nurse nodded agreeably and left, leaving Sara and Grissom alone again. For a few minutes, at least.

Dr. LaBianca walked in a few minutes later. "Well, Sara, I hear you didn't approve of your dinner?"

"Uh . . . sorry. I was really confused because Grissom wasn't there, and then I just went off on that doctor and nurse. Would you apologize for me?"

"Certainly. I think I'm going to be apologizing to you in a few minutes, though, because it's time for me to change your bandage."

"Oh no," Sara moaned, knowing what was in store for her. "Please tell me it wasn't wet-to-dry?"

"Not this time. We'll have to see how the hand looks before we decide about the next."

Sara sighed and gripped Grissom's arm again, then held out her bandaged hand to the doctor, who began gently unwrapping the gauze. "I'm going to have to pull this last pad off, Sara, and it will probably hurt. Mr. Grissom?"

Grissom nodded, leaned over Sara, and took a firm hold on her shoulders. Sara's face was turned toward him, but her eyes were squeezed shut. The doctor gripped a corner of the gauze pad and quickly yanked it off. Sara screamed. Grissom groaned and focused on keeping Sara from jerking off the bed.

"Okay, Sara," LaBianca said after a minute of examination. "Does it hurt a little less now?" When Sara nodded, he sighed. "Good, then get your strength back for a second, because next I need to check for any dead tissue. Otherwise known as probing."

"Oh, noooo. Do you have to?"

"I'm afraid so. Why don't you let Grissom sit on the bed with you so you can squeeze his neck, if you so desire?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. Sara groaned and moved over, allowing Grissom to take up a position next to her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Dr. LaBianca brandished a pair of tweezers and asked, "Ready, Sara?"

"Just do it."

The doctor made little humming noises as he examined her. Sara clutched Grissom's hand, digging in her short nails.

"Okay," said the doctor after a few minutes. "Your hand is beginning to heal, for the most part, but it looks like you may have a small area of necrosis at the top of the wound. Nothing dangerous," he continued quickly, seeing the look on her face, "unless we let it go unchecked. Which we won't of course. This is where the wet-to-dry bandage comes in. We'll be putting on a new one on every afternoon. The goal is to remove all of the dead tissue. We'll know that we've done that when the area begins to bleed when we remove the bandage."

Dr. LaBianca cleared his throat, knowing Sara wasn't going to like what he said next any more than she liked what he had just said. He suspected that Grissom would be grateful, however. "Sara, I'm going to have to keep you in here until that area is clear. I know you don't like hospitals, but I can't let you leave now when there's still a chance you could lose fingers if you decide to go stubborn again."

Sara turned to Grissom, a fulminating look on her face. "I hate you, Grissom! It's your fault that I'm in here to begin with!"

Grissom nodded meekly. "Yes, it is. That's why I'm staying here with you until you're healed enough to go home."

Sara didn't know what to say in response. She reminded herself that Grissom didn't care about her, he just felt responsible. She was dating Nick now, not Grissom. Then why did she feel at ease with him in the bed with her? She let out a deep groan.

"Sara? It hurts?"

"Yeah, Gris. It hurts a lot."


	7. She fckn' hates me

"I'll go get the nurse back," Grissom began.

"No, Gris, I'm fine. It's psychological pain for the most part."

"Are you reliving the explosion?"

Sara shook her head slowly. "No, I'm, uh . . . reliving the next night."

Grissom's brow furrowed. "What happened the next . . . oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'," agreed Sara.

"Sara, I'm sorry about that."

Sara turned her face away. "Forget it. I backed you into a corner, you had to just spit it out to get rid of me. I don't know," she said sadly. "Somehow I end up trying to date all the wrong men."

Grissom gently used one hand to turn her face back toward him. "Don't say that, Sara. It wasn't like that at all. I was . . . surprised. And I like to think I'm not nearly as wrong as that EMT you dated."

"I think that being totally infatuated with someone who treats me like a daughter is pretty wrong, Gris. Like I said, don't worry about it."

Grissom removed himself from the bed and stood over her, glowering. "I do not think of you as a daughter, Sara. I've told you that many times."

"And I've told you YOU many times that it doesn't matter whether the word is 'daughter' or 'protégé' or whatever, the concept is the same. You don't see me as a female."

Grissom stared. Was she nuts? Sara really didn't believe that he saw her that way, when he was lusting after her more than he'd ever lusted after any woman in his life? No, not lust, exactly, he thought. He didn't know the word for it, but it wasn't lust. He slumped down into his chair.

Sara turned her face back away and closed her eyes. I need sleep, she told herself. Re-hashing this with Grissom will just get me upset. 

Grissom ran a hand through his short hair, watching as Sara closed herself off from him. He hadn't said anything wrong this time, he really hadn't. Why didn't she believe him? "Because, you idiot," said a voice in his head, "you can't undo three years of rejection with one sentence of affirmation." He knew it was true, but he didn't know how to fix it, especially now that his idiocy wasn't the only obstacle.

If he tried to convince Sara now, he would be trying to take her from a friend. The fact that the friend had taken Sara from him to begin with crossed his mind, but he knew that Nick had been right when he said that Sara had finally had enough of Grissom's denials. He'd pushed her away, and Nick had snapped her up, fair and square.

Well, "fair and square" was bullshit, he decided. Sara had wanted him, not the Texan. She had only turned to him for comfort. She couldn't love Nick. It was impossible. He refused to believe it, because if he believed it, that meant that she was truly gone from him forever.

Sara was very conscious of the thick silence in the room. Grissom's chair had creaked as he sat down five minutes ago, and he hadn't made a sound since. Was he disgusted with her again? Was he angry that she wasn't taken in by his lies? She felt anger pour through her. Why was he here with her, chasing away her friends, when he didn't really care for her beyond mild friendship?

"Grissom?" she ventured, still turned away.

"Yes, Sara," his tired voice responded. She wondered whether he was fighting the same sort of thoughts.

"I . . . think that you should leave now. You've done enough for me. You can send in Nick or Warrick to guard me. Or even Catherine."

"No."

"Why not, Grissom?" Sara asked angrily as she turned to face him again. "Why are you still here? I'm not dying. I absolve you of any and all responsibility for my hand. You can leave."

"No, Sara."

Sara pushed aside the sheets that had been covering her and stood up. "Then I'm leaving. AMA or not."

"You're not leaving either, Sara. Sit down," Grissom said emotionlessly.

"You can't stop me. I'll scream bloody murder if you manhandle me again like you did last night."

"If I hadn't 'manhandled' you last night, you'd be in severe danger of losing your hand. I did what I had to do to protect you from yourself."

She tried wheedling. "Well, 'myself' isn't dangerous anymore, okay? I have no desire to lose my hand. I'll follow the doctor's instructions."

"No, Sara. You apparently don't realize the danger that his infection presents. Do you WANT to lose part of your hand, Sara? Have you ever heard of gangrene?"

"Don't treat me like I'm stupid, Gil Grissom! You know I know what gangrene is, and you know I know the dangers of infection. I'm thirty-one, Grissom, not five. I can live my own life."

"You're not doing a very good job of it," he replied coldly. "You're acting like a spoiled child, and I'll treat you like one until you stop."

"You ALWAYS treat me like I'm five!" Sara yelled, taking a step toward him. "You've treated me like I'm five since I was in college. You've treated me like I was five since I moved to Las Vegas. And you've especially treated me like I'm five since I started caring about you!"

Grissom's retort was interrupted by the sound of the hospital's intercom system. "Would the couple in room 325 settle their argument elsewhere, please? We have patients who are actually concerned with healing here."

Sara couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of her. She flopped back down onto the bed and eyed Grissom. "You know, the staff here already has us married off, Gris. And I explicitly told the doctor that we're not. I guess we do fight like it." She shrugged. "Truce, okay? You can stay as long as you treat me like an adult and not someone to be bossed around."

Grissom nodded. "I'm not leaving, Sara."

"I just said that, idiot," she grinned. 

"No, I mean that I'm not leaving whether you approve of me being here or not. You need to understand that I am genuinely worried about your condition, Sara. I don't want to lose a CSI, but even more, I don't want to lose Sara Sidle."

Sadness washed over Sara's face, though she tried to hide it. "You already lost me," she said, too quietly for Grissom to hear.

"So she thinks you treat her like a kid, huh," Catherine asked later that day as they stood outside Sara's room. She'd brought him an overnight bag with a week's worth of clothing and necessities. "Well I've got news for you, Gris. You do."

Grissom stared at her. "No I don't, Cath."

"Trust me," she shot back, "you do. The rest of us see it. That's why Nick feels so sure that you really don't have a claim on her. You also treat her like your personal lap dog sometimes. 'Here, Sara! Come work with me!' one minute, and then 'Bad Sara! Look what you did!' the next. Honestly, I'm surprised she lasted this long without doing harm to either herself or you."

Grissom wondered idly why everyone had waited until this happened to spring all these revelations on him. "You're not serious, Cath, are you? I don't treat her like a dog, and I don't treat her like a child."

"Try telling that to the woman asleep in there," she said, jerking her thumb in Sara's direction. "That's what she thinks, and with good reason. Listen, Grissom. You need to get your act together real fast, or you're going to lose her totally. She's so close to really trying to make a relationship with Nick, and that's just wrong on so many levels."

"But I . . ."

"I don't care 'what you,' Gil. I'm not the one you need to convince, and at the rate you're going, you're never going to convince Sara either. Get your ass in gear, old man." With that, she turned to leave.

"But Catherine!" he called after her. "How do I convince her?"

"You're the adult, Grissom, remember? If you're so mature, you figure it out," she called back as she stepped into the elevator.

"Well, you two," the doctor said the next morning as he stepped into Sara's room, "are we ready for another bandage change?"

Sara's response was to try to scoot to the other side of the bed and hide behind her pillow. Grissom gave her a worried look and said, "You know, Doc, I get the impression she's not. But I'm not going to be the one to tell her she doesn't have a choice."

Dr. LaBianca chuckled. "Touche, Grissom. Well, then, Sara, it looks like the job falls to me. Come on over here."

"Can I at least sit in a chair?" Sara asked, rising and walking toward the man. "I feel like I'm growing mold in this bed."

"I don't think so, Sara. I know you're a stoic, but I need someone to hold down your shoulders so you don't punch me. Why don't we compromise: you can sit on the side of the bed. But I still need to restrain your arms."

"I'll hold her," Grissom volunteered. He sat down on her bed and held out a hand to her. "Come on, Sidle," he said with a jerk of his head.

Sara reluctantly sat down next to him. Grissom wrapped one arm around her shoulders and whispered, "Don't worry, ok? This is what I'm here for." He held onto her good arm with his other hand and ran his fingers gently over the goose bumps that had formed there from her anxiety.

Sara gave him a wounded look, but reluctantly held out her hand to her doctor. "You know, by the time I get out of here, I'm going to have a real psychological aversion to being near men in white coats."

LaBianca laughed as he rolled off the gauze that held the bandage on. "From what Grissom tells me, that could certainly put a damper on your career." He set aside the roll of cotton and turned back to her. "Ready?"

Sara grimaced and Grissom offered her his hand. She took it in a firm grip, ready to squeeze.

"Now, I can't jerk this one off so quickly. It needs to be peeled. Ok, here goes." He began to inch the now-hardened bandage away from her skin. The first few millimeters didn't hurt, since that was healthy skin, but the pain soon began to build.

To her mortification, Sara let out a whimper. "Stop, please?" she asked desperately.

"He can't, Sara, you know that," Grissom said. "We need to check out your hand." A second after he said that, he turned to the doctor and said furiously, "Can't you give her some lidocaine or something?" 

The doctor didn't say anything, just shook his head and ripped away another inch of the bandage. Sara moaned and Grissom, sure that he was feeling her pain, moaned also. He wondered if this was what it would be like if he and Sara had children. He wasn't sure he could take it for longer than a few minutes at a time.

Sara sucked in her breath and would have torn her hand away from the doctor's grasp if Grissom hadn't been holding her. "I hate you!" she shouted at the doctor.

Grissom managed to smile. "At least you hate him this time, and not me."

"I hate you too!"

"No, you don't, Sidle. Admit it, you like me," he said, noticing that there was only another inch of bandage to be pulled away. He quickly leaned over and kissed Sara's cheek, trying to distract her from the pain. "Almost done, sweetie. Buck up."

It worked long enough for the doctor to get the dressing off of her hand, but the peace was broken when a furious voice from the doorway hissed, "What the hell is going on here?"

Three pairs of eyes turned to the doorway to see Nick, who looked like he was seething.

"Answer me! What the hell are you doing to her, Grissom?"

Sara peeled herself away from Grissom and stood up. "Calm down, Nick. You just experienced the removal of my wet-to-dry dressing."

"From your cheek? With Grissom's mouth?"

"Nick," Grissom said in a voice that he hoped sounded calm, "she was in a lot of pain. I was trying to distract her."

"Nick!" Sara snapped out. "Stop it. Now. If you can't act like a human being, leave."

"And leave you with him? No way!"

"Then come out to the lounge with me and I'll explain this to you. Not in here."

Grissom started to protest, sure that Sara shouldn't be walking right now, but she waved a hand at him. "Shut up, Grissom." She strode proudly out of the room, not checking to see that Nick followed.

When they were gone, the doctor turned to Grissom. "Your competition?"

"You could say that," Grissom said, nodding. "He's her boyfriend, at least officially. But she's only dating him because I told her I wouldn't date her, and . . .it's a long story, doc. I won't bore you with it."

Dr. LaBianca only smiled. "You tried the noble route, didn't you, and found out that it never works in your favor?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Gil, let me share something with you," the doctor began. "My wife is ten years younger with me, and I tried the same thing. I wanted her to be happy with someone her own age. Nearly lost her because I kept rejecting her advances. What actually ended up happening," he said, ducking his head in embarrassment, "was that she got fed up one day and knocked me out cold. Before I could get my bearings when I woke up, she knelt down next to me and whispered that I was a complete idiot who didn't deserve her, but I could have her anyway." He smiled gently, remembering. "We got married the next week."

Grissom frowned. "That's a nice story, Doctor, but Sara and I aren't in the same situation."

"Oh, it certainly looks to me like you are. Only difference is, she's the one laid out flat. I recommend you hurry up and do the idiot bit and throw yourself on her mercy. Or just throw yourself on her!" he finished with a laugh.


	8. So much for pretending

Nick plopped down into an overstuffed chair and looked at Sara concernedly. "Hey, I'm sorry, Sara. It was dumb of me to start yelling. Just, uh, caught me by surprise."

Sara blinked, caught off guard by his sudden turn-around. "Oh. Um, it's okay. I just need to talk to you about the whole deal." She ran a hand through her tangled hair. Bed rest certainly wasn't doing her any favors in the beauty department!

Nick smiled gently. "Same here. Let me go first, ok?" Sara nodded uncertainly, and he added, "I promise I'm not gonna yell."

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then looked her in the eye. "Don't feel bad about having Grissom here, Sara. We can all see that it's making both of you a hell of a lot calmer over the whole situation. And to be honest, I know that you want him with you, and not one of the rest of us."

"Nick, I . . ."

Nick held up a hand to shush her. "Don't. Let me just say what needs to be said. Okay, Sara, tell me this:  how would you describe what's been going on between you and me in the past two weeks? And how about what's been going on between you and Grissom?"

"Um. Well you and I have been . . . dating. And Grissom really hasn't been in my life the past few weeks, at least until last night."

Nick's eyes widened incredulously. "Man, you're as bad as Grissom, Sara! Does the word 'denial' mean anything to you?" He laughed. "You may have been going to dinner with me, sweetheart, but I have a hunch that it wasn't me you were thinking about. 

"I told you that first day that you were rebounding, and trust me, I knew it was true. I guess I'm as bad as that doctor of yours, because I've been playing with you two. Grissom needed a kick in the ass, and you needed someone to hide behind. Voila, I present the Magnificent Nick!"

"Excuse me?" Sara said, bewildered. "Playing us?"

"Yeah, Sara, playing. As in, setting the stage for you guys to get your act together and figure this out? Listen, Sar, we've been like brother and sister for years now. I only want what's best for you, and that's Grissom. So I gave you what you needed. Luckily for my plan, you got yourself in trouble so that Grissom could come to your rescue."

"You're kidding me, Nick. This was all part of some master plan to get me and Grissom together? So you're not actually angry about what you just saw?"

Nick laughed and hugged her quickly. "No, Sara, I'm not angry. But it was a good act, wasn't it?" He patted her cheek, grinning even wider. "You're slipping, Sidle. A few months ago you would've picked up on it. Man, for two hyper-serious people, you and Grissom have got the goofiest relationship going on…!"

Sara sat. More like fell, really; she was just lucky there was a chair under her. "I want to throw something hard at your head right now, Nicky. I can't believe you set me up! I mean, not that I'm angry about it, really, but I never knew you could be so sneaky!" She sighed. "But it's not like Grissom's suddenly declared his undying love for me, Nick. We're friends again – at least, I think we are – but he certainly hasn't made any moves 'like that' toward me."

"He will, Sara. Give it time."

"That was the problem in the first place! I am so sick of giving it time, I want it to happen now!"

"Good things come to those who wait, remember?" He laughed and caught Sara around the waist when she threw herself out of the chair at him. "Hey, easy, watch your hand. Really, Sara, it'll happen. He's worried to death about you right now, and ever since he saw me kiss you, he's been a bear to me. Trust me, Grissom cares. Just use whatever feminine wiles you have left from that tomboy upbringing of yours, and you'll have him begging at your feet."

"You're evil, but I love you anyway, Nicholas Stokes." She tipped her face up. "I was so dreading this conversation, I can't believe you turned it all around on me, you brat."

"I do what I can! Hey, listen. If Grissom needs another kick in the pants, which we both know he just might, just make up something about me and you. Say I proposed or something outrageous like that. I guarantee that'll get a rise out of him." He kissed the tip of her nose, then smiled. "Go on and get your hand fixed. I'll come see you tomorrow, ok? And I demand a full report of Operation Get Grissom when I do."

Sara laughed, a bright, tinkling sound. "Get Grissom . . . I like that, Nick. I'll see you tomorrow." 

Nick gave her one last hug, then pushed her back into the chair. "Hang out for a while. See you later!" He left the room still laughing and shaking his head.

Sara sat for close to ten minutes more. She closed her eyes, for once oblivious to the pain in her hand, and replayed the conversation in her mind. What she'd told Nick had been true; she really didn't know what was going on with Grissom. But he was right that she'd only been thinking of Grissom this week. No matter what Nick told her, though, she just wasn't sure that he'd ever come around. And if he rejected her again, she was just going to want to curl up into a little ball and cry.

Sara was horribly afraid that if she stayed here much longer, her resolution would slip and she'd fall right back into love with the infuriating man sharing her room.

"Sara." Dr. LaBianca's voice brought her back from reality. "Come on, I need to see your hand." Sara smiled weakly and allowed the doctor who was quickly becoming a friend to help her out of the chair, but her steps lagged as she followed him back toward her room.

When they entered, the doctor gave Grissom a look Sara couldn't interpret. "Grissom, could you please go amuse yourself somewhere else while I look at Sara?"

"Why?" he asked quickly. "Is something wrong?" Had Nick done something that hurt her? She'd been in the lounge with him a long time.

"No, no. I just want to talk to her about, uh, female medical stuff."

That was a bald-faced lie, Grissom knew, but he decided not to argue. "Sure. I'll be in the coffee shop."

Dr. LaBianca looked at Sara solemnly when Grissom was gone. "Now, Sara, before I check your hand, I want to know what went on in there."

"In where?"

"In the lounge with that man."

Sara blinked at him, wondering if the good doctor was losing it. "Nothing. We talked. Can we get on with this?" She held out her hand expectantly, but he didn't take it.

The doctor sat down in what Sara was beginning to think of as Grissom's Chair. "I've allowed Grissom to stay here for the past two days because I thought I was helping your relationship. I know that you're not married, and I know that the man who just left is supposed to be the one you're interested in, but I'm old and I decided to meddle." He sighed heavily. "If I'm not helping you by encouraging Grissom, Sara, tell me now and I will ask him to leave. I like the man, but you are my patient, not him, and it's you I'm concerned with."

Before Sara could answer, he added, "Before you make a decision, may I tell you what I see between you young people?"

Sara shrugged. "I suspect you will anyway."

LaBianca repeated the story about his courtship that he'd told Grissom earlier. " . . . and she knelt down next to me and whispered that I was a complete idiot who didn't deserve her, but I could have her anyway." He smiled gently. "I see the same dynamic between you and Gil, Sara. I don't know what precipitated him dragging you into the hospital, but I know that you're much calmer when he's here with you. Your pulse and blood pressure drop as soon as you see him.

"I may be an old fool, but I know my medicine. Biology doesn't lie, Sara. Grissom makes you comfortable. The other man . . . well, let's just say that he's not as healthy for your vital signs."

Sara sighed. "I honestly don't know what I feel for Grissom right now, Doctor, and I don't know what he feels for me. But you're right about his effect on me. And frankly, I'm worried that if Grissom isn't here with me, I might just go totally insane and start throwing things at the staff."

LaBianca chuckled. "Well, I'll leave the falling in love part to you. I just wanted to make sure you didn't mind my machinations."

"Plot all you want, Doc. I'll throw a hamburger at you when I get tired of it." She smiled. "Can I have Grissom back before you take those tweezers to me?"

Without responding, the doctor opened the door to Sara's room and peered around the corner. Within seconds, Grissom was back in the room and sitting down on Sara's bed. "Coffee shop, huh, Gris?" Sara laughed.

Grissom flushed. "I drank fast."

"Okay, now that the gang's all here," LaBianca said, "shall we begin the torture? Just kidding, Sara! Today should actually be easier than yesterday, though I may have to do a small amount of debriding. 

"Grissom . . . have I mentioned lately that I hate you?" Sara growled through clenched teeth.  She held her hand out obediently and looked at Grissom. "Get your butt over here, Gris. I'm sure as hell not going through this again without inflicting some pain on you."

Grissom did as ordered, but sat stiffly beside her, offering only his hand. He was tongue-tied and feeling out of control. What had gone on between Nick and Sara?

Dr. LaBianca handled the tweezers gently. "Alright, then," he said after examining the wound. "It's looking better, but it's still not bleeding. That means that I do need to remove some of the dead tissue, Sara. The good news is that since it's dead, the tissue no longer has active nerves. The bad news is that I can't avoid hitting the living tissue underneath, so you'll feel some pain."

Sara grimaced. Suddenly aware that Grissom's warm body wasn't pressed protectively around hers this time, she turned to face him. "Listen, Grissom, this is not the time to go all male ego on me. I'll tell you about it later if you really need to know, but if you don't actually provide some comfort right now, I'm going to be the one wringing _your_ neck, not the other way around."

Grissom frowned. "Sara, I . . ." He didn't know what to say to her. "Alright," he said finally, and moved closer to her. As he'd been afraid, the moment his shoulder touched hers, the desire to just wrap his arms around her and never let any other man near her resurfaced. 

Using what he thought was probably his last shred of restraint, Grissom put an arm around her shoulders supportively. "It'll be fine, Sara. Debriding isn't as bad as having the bandage removed. Just don't watch."

"Easy for you to say. Ow!" she squeaked, more in surprise than pain, as the doctor began to slowly clip off graying tissue. Almost involuntarily, Sara squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in Grissom's shoulder. 

Grissom rubbed a comforting hand over her back and started whispering a story about one of his prized racing cockroaches. ". . . And I was totally perplexed on the issue of whether roaches could actually sustain leg injuries, or whether he'd just lost part of his leg along the way. So there I am after everyone else has left, nose an inch away from the track, when this maintenance man comes up behind me. 'Lose a contact?' he said, and I told him no, I was looking for part of my cockroach's leg. I'll tell you, Sara, I've never seen a person's eyebrows nearly shoot off their head before. The man must have thought I was completely insane, the way he took off out of that warehouse."

He was gratified to hear a small giggle coming from his shoulder. "That didn't really happen, Grissom, did it?" Her words were muffled, but considering his experience with muffled sounds, Grissom had little trouble understanding her.

"Of course it's true, Sidle," he told her sternly. "When have I ever lied to you?" Sara snorted, then sucked in her breath.

Dr. LaBianca raised his head from his work. "Almost done, Sara. That pain you just felt was me bumping into the healing tissue, which means that I've nearly got the dead tissue gone."

Both Grissom and Sara were now removed from the spell his storytelling had woven. It was on the tip of Grissom's tongue to demand, yet again, a local anesthetic for Sara, though the rational part of his brain told him it wasn't medically worth it. Twenty minutes of time to numb versus five minutes of debriding wasn't worth the time, money, or effort. 

"There," the doctor said, sitting back. "All done, and you're free from any poking, tweezing, or ripping until this time tomorrow. I'll have a nurse come in and re-bandage you, then you can take a well-deserved nap," he said over his shoulder on his way out.

Sara muttered something that was supposed to be a thank-you, but sounded more like a pox upon the doctor's descendents.

" Well that's certainly not the nicest thing to say to the gentlest doc in this hospital!" It was the nurse, Rosa, again. She was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, a roll of gauze dangling from one hand.

"Sorry," Sara managed, fighting the smile that wanted to pop onto her face.

"Well you ought to be! Bruce has the best bedside manner in here, and if you don't approve of it, you're out of luck."

"Hey, hey," Sara said, holding up her hands in supplication, "I was just complaining because he's the one who has the take off the bandages and inflict the pain." 

Rosa nodded shortly, accepting Sara's quasi-apology. When she turned to retrieve the hated package of bandage that she'd set on a table, Sara leaned over to Grissom and whispered, "Bruce? Bruce LaBianca?" Grissom shrugged.

"Ok, I surrender, Rosa," Sara said sweetly. "Bandage me up and I promise not to badmouth Dr. . . . Bruce . . . anymore until he rips this thing off me again tomorrow."


	9. Walking on broken glass

When Rosa left them alone, Sara sank back against the bed with a grunt. "I don't know how much longer I can deal with having my skin ripped off, cut off, and shaved off, Grissom. Hospitals make me feel sicker, I swear."

"Well you certainly can't go home, Sara. I don't think I'm ever going to trust you to even use a pocketknife again."

"Grissom! It was so not my fault that I got cut in the explosion; it's not like I was sitting around stroking the sharp edge of a butcher knife. How is this suddenly my fault?"

"Because you knew you had open stitches, and just to spite me, you didn't get them looked at! Jesus, Sara, our relationship could have been the cause for you to lose your hand!"

"I didn't know we had any relationship," Sara replied. "Could've fooled me."

He squeezed her shoulder. "Of course we have a relationship, Sara. We always have, ever since we met."

Giving him a disbelieving look, Sara shook off his hand and sat up. "Do you really want to do this now, Grissom? Because I'm sick of putting it off, and I'm ready to get it over with."

"Do what? Get what over with?"

"Why don't you tell me, Grissom. Start with what you think this 'relationship' of ours is about."

Realizing her goal, Grissom shook his head. "No, Sara. I can't do this now, you're not well enough." He couldn't tell her the real reason for his refusal: he couldn't move past the confrontation with Nick that had happened this afternoon. He couldn't tell her what he felt for her while she was still involved with another man. If he did, and she didn't feel the same, he would lose her with a finality that he couldn't imagine right now.

"That's not a good enough reason, Grissom. I'm perfectly fine now except for this bandage, and you're acting like I'm at death's door. Enough, ok? I don't care what you have to say about it, just say _something_."

Grissom shook his head. "_No_. It doesn't matter what I have to say right now, I won't interfere with your . . . other relationships."

"Fine," Sara said, laying back. Her heart was pounding and her head was beginning to hurt. She wondered if Grissom's supposed calming effect on her had reversed itself. "I give up, Grissom. Maybe one day you'll get around to telling me what the hell is going on, but I won't hold my breath. Meantime, I'm going to sleep. I don't care what you do." She wanted to beat her head into a wall. Better yet, she thought, she wanted to beat Grissom's head into that wall. She managed to resist, though, and instead closed her eyes to Grissom's pleading look.

Grissom sat back in his chair, wondering why he couldn't convince himself to just spit it out. Sara had given him so many chances and he'd thrown each away, one by one. Stupid, stupid, stupid, his mind admonished him. 

He could feel his pulse rising. He needed to calm down. He needed to get out of this room for a while. What he needed, Grissom decided, was coffee. Again.

Sara somehow managed to doze off, despite her desire to give Grissom a good whack upside the head. She didn't know how long she'd been asleep when she woke up, but the light wasn't much different, so it couldn't have been too long. Sitting up, she frowned. Her mouth was annoyingly dry, and there was no water left in the pitcher Rosa had left her.

"Gris?" Her voice was fading in and out, a casualty of her dry mouth. She cleared her throat and tried again, a little louder. "Gris?" No response. Sara turned over to see if he was perhaps absorbed in reading something, but he wasn't there. She sighed, hoping he hadn't made an escape from her foul presence while she slept.

She reached over and snagged one of the books Catherine had brought him to read. "Patricia Cornwell? Grissom? He must read them just so he can laugh at the errors. Then again, this one's titled 'Body Farm' . . . that'll always catch his attention." Sara wasn't a big fan of the author, but at least it wasn't a sci-fi novel or something. Now, _those_ she couldn't stand. Nuclear physics used in teleportation, indeed!

Oh, well, it wasn't like there was anything else for her to read. She picked up the book and began flipping through it. "Ugh, I hate the taste of dry-mouth." Remembering the bottle of vitamin water Catherine had slipped her, Sara smiled and reached under the bed to retrieve it. "Ohhh that hits the spot." Her voice was working better, at least.

Surprised to find herself absorbed in the story, Sara came back to reality an hour later. Her mouth was dry again and her head was beginning to hurt. Why couldn't her body just get with the program and start working again?!

She hated to draw the attention to herself, but annoyance got the better of her and she buzzed for a nurse to ask for some Tylenol. A nurse she didn't know arrived at her bedside before she knew it, asking what was wrong. "Can I just have some Tylenol or something? I've got a headache."

The nurse studied her closely. "Are you having any other physical symptoms?"

"Symptoms of what?"

"Anything, really. Headache, you just said. What about high temperature, chills? Dry mouth?"

Sara didn't like where this was going. "My mouth is dry, yeah, but that's just because I'm thirsty, it's not a problem. Can I just get some drugs?" she asked, quirking a smile.

"Sure," said the nurse slowly. "I'll be right back with that." She turned and left the room, looking thoughtful; Sara went back to her reading. 

The nurse was back in five minutes with a small cup that Sara knew contained two acetaminophen tablets. "Before I give you these, I just want to check you out. Don't want that hand getting any worse, you know." The woman reached out and laid the back of her hand against Sara's cheek. "Hmm. You feel warm." She pulled out an ear thermometer and stuck it into Sara's ear without saying anything more. 

Checking the results, the woman blinked and laid her hand against Sara's face again. Sara noticed with apprehension that the nurse's smile had deserted her. "What's wrong?"

"You're temperature's at 102, and that's definitely not supposed to happen. I'm getting your doctor."

"I've been under these hot blankets all day!" Sara called after her. "I don't have a fever!" The nurse didn't turn around, only continued her hustle toward the nurse's station.

"Dr. LaBianca, third-floor nurse's station, please. LaBianca, third-floor," the intercom system announced. Grissom looked up at it. Sara was on the third floor. It couldn't be her, he reassured himself; she was doing much better. 

He forced himself to sit another five minutes and finish his cookie, but could sit still no longer. The fact that Sara had been doing better didn't reassure him. Knowing her as he did, he was sure she could get herself right back into trouble. He tapped a foot impatiently as the elevator made its slow journey to the third floor.

When the doors opened, he strode quickly to Sara's room, afraid once again that his stubborn Sara had brought trouble upon herself. Just as he was about to enter, Rosa cut him off. "Stay out here for a while, Mr. Grissom, please."

"Why? What's wrong with her? Is she ok?"

Rosa said flatly, "Her infection is fighting back. Her temperature's up to nearly one hundred-three degrees. Stay here, please. Dr. LaBianca is with her."

Grissom could only stare. Of course, just like him to leave her alone and go get coffee the one time today that she'd needed him. "Is she . . ." He stopped himself. He was a trained medical professional, or at least he had been. He knew better than to start asking questions now, but this was Sara. This was a completely different set of rules. "Is she going to be okay?"

"We'll let you know when we know. For now, we just need to you to stay calm and out of the doctor's way."

"Please, can I go in if I stay clear of the people working on her?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "That's not a good idea. Sara doesn't look too reassuring right now, and god knows I can't restrain you if you start freaking out."

"Please. I'm in crisis situations every day, just let me see her."

Rosa sighed, fully aware of the pain and suspense the man in front of her was feeling. "I can't, Mr. Grissom, I'm sorry. I'll come out when I can and keep you updated." With that, she walked back into the room, immediately changing from friend to nurse.

Grissom sank down on the floor outside the room. How could they not let him see her now? He couldn't sit out here and do nothing! No, no, he couldn't sit. He started pacing. Pacing grew tiring after ten minutes, and he sat again, head in his hands.

"Grissom?" It was the doctor. "May I ask you a few questions about how Sara's been doing?"

"Yeah, doc, but you've seen her every day. How could you not catch this?" he asked angrily. 

LaBianca shook his head. "I'm not sure, Gil. That's what I need to talk to you about. Has Sara been doing as I told her to when I wasn't in the room? Resting and not tugging at her IV?"

Grissom closed his eyes, thinking. "When was she supposed to have the IV in?"

"Midday each day. I suspect she may have pulled it out at least once, and that's why I'm asking you. I'm sure you know the danger of ending antibiotic treatment before the infection has been totally knocked out."

"Oh no." He could picture Sara yesterday afternoon. A nurse had gently put the needle into her vein . . . what had happened next? The nurse had taped it in and left. Then what? He had gone to the coffee machine. Had the IV still been in when he came back? He remembered seeing the white medical tape that had held it in place . . . "Think Gil!" he mumbled, straining to see what he could in the memory. Then it snapped into focus. There had been no bump under the tape. Sara had taken out the needle and replaced the tape. 

"Bruce, you need to get her better so I can kill her. She did take the needle out. How could she be so stupid?! How much danger is she in now?"

"We're making her comfortable. It's useless to try to fight the fever right now; her temperature is high for a reason. If it crosses the 104 threshold, though, all bets are off. Right now we have a new IV in and we're hitting her with a big dose of Keflex. It should help control the spike in her white cell count and get her body to back off a little, but as I'm sure you're aware, she's going to have to stay on it, under close supervision, until she's clean."

Grissom nodded. "I'll tie her down to the bed if I have to. That IV is staying in from now on, I can assure you of that." He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, thankful that Sara was under such good care and that she hadn't managed to harm herself further. "Can I see her?"

LaBianca nodded. "She's awake but a little fuzzy, as I'm sure any of would be in her place. She also keeps insisting that she doesn't have a fever."

"Typical Sara," Grissom groaned, and pushed past the doctor into the room. Sara was lying perfectly still on the bed, and his heart began to pound at seeing her like this. Sara never stopped moving, but she was so exhausted now that she couldn't bring herself to move anything.

"Sara," he said, leaning over her. "Hi. How you feeling?"

Sara's mouth moved slightly in what he thought was a smile. "I'm fine, Gris. No fever, I swear, they're overreacting."

Grissom smacked a palm into his forehead. Did he really need to start physically forcing her to take care of herself?

"You do have a fever, Sara, and it's because you took out you IV. I would shake some sense into you right now, but I'm still reeling." He leaned close to her face. "I'm going to make sure you get better, Sara, no matter how hard you try to get rid of me."

Her eyes were closed, he noticed, black eyelashes fanned out against perfectly white skin. Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her lips softly. "You can't get rid of me," he whispered.


	10. Feels more like a jail cell, a penitenti...

**A/N: **Thanks to Rosa (yet again!) for helping me with the medical technicalities. I had no idea about the mechanics of an IV, other than that it involved a needle and a bag of liquid!

When he was sure she was asleep, Grissom made his way to the nurse's station. "Hey, Rosa?"

"She's fine, Mr. Grissom, we told you."

Grissom paused. "That wasn't what I was going to ask. I was going to ask you if you could put an alarm on her IV pump. Sara never learns, and I'd bet that she'll try this stunt again."

Rosa smiled. "One step ahead of you. We're getting ready to set up a mainline with a heprin lock. That way the IV'll be in all the time and we'll just switch it every two days or so. Trust me, if she tries to escape that needle again, we'll know. There," she said, pointing across the hall. "That's the alarmed pump we're setting up. Is Sara going to fight us when we do this?"

Grissom shook his head. "Even if she did, I'd control her. But no, she won't fight. She'll just wait until no one's paying attention and then try to take the setup apart or something. Which is why I'm not leaving her room in the foreseeable future."

Rosa twitched an eyebrow and leaned slightly forward. "Does she know how much energy you're expending trying to keep her well?"

A slightly bitter laugh escaped Grissom's throat. "Oh, I doubt it. She thinks of me more as a jailer than a savior. She also thinks I'm just here to protect my investment, so to speak."

"Well? Aren't you?"

"No! I'm here because she . . . I . . . oh, forget it. I'm here because I want to be here."

"If you ask me," the nurse said, examining her grape-colored fingernails, "Sara's the one you should be telling all this to, not me or Bruce. Not that we're not happy to catch up on hospital gossip, of course, but this isn't getting you anywhere with that pretty girl," she said, tipping her head in the direction of Sara's room. "Why _are_ you telling this to me, anyway? Why not just suck it up and tell her?"

Sigh. Why did everyone keep asking him that? "I can't just 'suck it up,' as you put it, because Sara already has a boyfriend."

"Oh, that young guy?"

Grissom winced. "Yeah. Him."

"Don't sweat it. He treats her like a sister when they're alone."

Grissom said nothing, just shook his head slowly and turned back toward Sara's room. "We'll see," he muttered as he walked away from Rosa.

"You're not seeing too much right now, Mr. Grissom!" she laughed after him.

Sara glared stonily at Grissom, refusing to speak. Dr. LaBianca looked from one to the other, shaking his head. "Children! Can we stop the staring contest and start giving Sara her medicine?" He was answered by two deep frowns. Choosing not to notice, he continued, "I'll take that as a yes. Grissom, if you'd step away from the bed, please?"

Grissom stepped away just far enough for Rosa to squeeze in between him and the bed. She harrumphed, but he wouldn't move any farther. "Thanks for the space, Grissom," she said hotly, picking up the doctor's method of address. 

"Now, Sara. We're starting you on a regular course of Keflex. I think you knew that already. We're also setting you up with a semi-permanent IV. No more getting the needle just for the afternoon, since you obviously aren't a big fan of that." She smiled at the her deliberate obtuseness. "You're getting a mainline now, and it'll be staying in 24/7 until Bruce gives you a clean bill of health."

"Why? You're not going to be giving me the drugs all day, every day. Why does it have to stay in constantly?"

"Because, Sara," Grissom answered, cutting off the nurse's exasperated explanation, "you already pulled out one IV. They can't trust you with the basic version, so they're not giving you the opportunity to mess with it again. There's an alarm on this pump. If you take that needle out, the nurses will know as soon as you do. And I'll be rather unhappy with you."

"So what else is new?" Sara said under her breath.

"I heard that, Sidle." He sat down on the end of the bed, nearly crushing Sara's feet. "Why can't you just do what's best for yourself?" he asked in a quieter voice. "Why do you always have to fight me, even if you end up spiting yourself?"

"There!" Rosa announced. "IV's in. Now stay put, Sara," she added, giving the woman in the bed a ferocious look, "or you'll have to be restrained."

Sara blinked. They couldn't really do that, could they? Her mind was still working furiously as Rosa and the doctor left the room. "They can't restrain me, Grissom, can they?"

"Officially, no. But we all know you're just doing more damage to yourself when you do things like this, and I, for one, won't argue if they do have to strap your arms down." He scooted up from the foot of the bed to the middle. "Sara," he said, brushing a strand of her hair out of her face, "why do you do this to yourself? I know you don't want to lose your hand. I know you want to get out of this hospital. And despite both those things, you pulled out your IV. You stopped taking your antibiotics. You left yourself open to a much more severe infection, which you even managed to acquire. _Why_, Sara?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't like not being in control, and in here I have no control over anything. I can't stand being here, Gris."

"Well you and I are stuck here for about three more days, thanks to your last stunt. Nothing I'm saying is getting through to you, Sara. Do you want me to leave? Will you cooperate then? Tell me."

Sara closed her eyes to the physical and mental pains that her mind had combined into one. "I don't know. No, I don't want you to leave, I just want you to get me out of here."

"You're not a prisoner here, Sara, despite how you're acting. You can leave here at any time, but be very aware that if you leave this hospital before your infection is completely gone, you've got a 90 percent chance of losing at least one finger to it." 

"I don't want to lose my hand," she whispered. "Maybe I need some Valium or something for while I'm in here."

Grissom shook his head. "They don't dispense that like candy anymore, remember? Dr. LaBianca would need to write you a prescription, and I don't think he thinks you need it. You just need to rest, Sara. Stay in your bed, sleep, and relax. Don't fight the treatment. I'll be here with you, and I don't like hospitals any more than you do."

"Especially," he added, "when it's someone I care for in the bed."

Sara made a rude noise in response.

"Why won't you believe that I care?" he asked angrily. "I've never done anything to make you think I don't care about you."

"I'm not discussing this, Grissom. I thought you wanted me to relax, and this is _not_ my idea of a relaxing conversation."

"She WHAT?" Nick exclaimed. "She pulled out her damn IV?" he asked Grissom incredulously, as though he hadn't heard the first time. "How could she be so dumb?"

Grissom shook his head, for once forgetting his animosity toward the younger man. "I don't know, Nick. Maybe you should be the one staying here with her. She won't listen to anything I say."

Nick shook his head. "It's not just you she won't listen to, trust me. She's not buying anything I tell her either. I just can't believe she stopped the antibiotics on her own. That's . . . she KNOWS how bad the consequences of that can be."

Grissom shrugged tensely. "You tell her that, Nick. I don't know what to do with her anymore."

Nick took a good look at Grissom for the first time that afternoon. The older man was a shade paler than usual and his skin seemed slack. His blue eyes weren't twinkling as they usually did. He hadn't shaved in days, judging by the stubble, and Nick knew he'd been subsisting on coffee and cookies from the hospital's coffee shop.

"Gris, you're not doing anyone any favors the way you're going. You need to start taking care of yourself, _then_ you can start trying to take care of Sara. You look like you're about to collapse. Have you even slept lately?"

"A few hours," Grissom said defensively. "I'm just worried about her."

"So am I," Nick said, "but right now I'm just as concerned about you. You're letting yourself go to pieces over this, for god only knows what reason." He stopped. "Is this because of me and her? Are you that jealous?"

Grissom blanched, a happening that would have fascinated Nick if he weren't so worried about the man. "I'm not . . . Jealous? Me? Come on, Nick."

"No, Grissom, _you_ come on. You're lying to yourself. Listen, Sara and I aren't dating, ok? We were just going out to dinner and stuff. And we're done with that now, too."

Grissom said nothing, only looked at him with a confused expression. His jaw worked a few times. When he finally found his voice, it came out harshly. "Then why have you two been running around like you're young love embodied? Don't joke with me right now, Nicky."

Nick shrugged. "She wanted to convince herself that she was over you. I played along, hoping that you'd figure out what the hell you were doing . . . but no luck, I guess. You are seriously one of the most oblivious people I've ever met!" He pointed back toward Sara's room. "So why don't you go try talking to her about that instead of lecturing her on bed rest? I bet she'll be a lot more cooperative."


	11. We're not gonna take it anymore

Grissom wandered back into Sara's room feeling shell-shocked. Sara and Nick hadn't been dating? Sara had been trying to forget about him? And had his infatuation been so obvious that everyone at CSI knew? He shook his head slowly, trying to clear it.

Sara's sleepy voice snapped him back into reality. "Gris? What's wrong?" 

He looked over quickly, wondering if she'd heard any of the lecture Nick had given him. "Nothing's wrong. Go back to sleep."

"No, I'm awake now. Tell me what's wrong. You look like you just went ten rounds with reality or something." She sat up carefully, trying to avoid shifting the IV that was now firmly planted in the back of her hand. "Come on, Gris. You wanted to talk earlier, so talk."

He sat down in his chair and leaned forward, clasping his hands together between his knees. "Sara? Would you tell me what's happening with you and Nick? I mean, what was going on before you were in the hospital, and what's going on now?"

Her eyes flew to his face. Why was he asking this now? "Why do you want to know, Grissom? I'll tell you, I mean, but . . . why?"

"Because . . ." Why _did_ he want to know? What could he tell her? "Because Nick was acting strangely when I just talked to him."

Sara's eyes narrowed. "Strange how?"

"He just . . . uh, didn't seem concerned that I was staying here with you."

Sara thought for a moment. Was this what Nick had meant when he'd told her to make up a story about them, or had he told Grissom the truth?" "Stop clamming up, Gris. If I don't know what he said to you, then I can't tell you what's going on. What if he told you we were getting married or something?"

"He, uh, said that you two weren't seeing each other."

Whoa. Grissom had just actually told her something with substance. "What else?"

Grissom sighed. "He said that you two aren't dating, never were, and that he dated you to make me jealous."

The stiffness went out of her muscles and Sara collapsed back against the bed, staring at him.

"Sara? Are you ok?" He jumped up, worried that she'd passed out. "Sara?"

"Yeah." Her voice rose from somewhere within the pillows that were surrounding her head. "I'm fine. Just a little . . . taken aback."

"About what?"

Sara grinned, though he couldn't see it. "Gris, when was the last time you actually told me the truth about something personal? Never! N-e-v-e-r. You always either lie or avoid the issue. And you just told me this stuff without any persuasion on my part. I don't even have my gun!"

"I don't lie to you," he protested. "Maybe I avoid the questions sometimes, but that's my prerogative." 

An unladylike snort rose from the bed. "Uh-huh. Way to backpedal." Just like him, she thought.

"I'm not backpedaling, Sara! I was just answering your question. Now, can we get back to the issue at hand?"

"What was it?"

"You and Nick, Sara. Your relationship."

"Oh, that," she said quickly, before she could chicken out. "He was telling the truth. We're not dating. We just went out a couple times so I could take my mind off . . . stuff."

"Me."

"Among other things."

There was silence. Grissom sat back down and stared at the floor, trying to think of what to do next, while Sara hid in her pillows, mortified that she'd just said that when she'd sworn only a week ago that she was done with Grissom.

"Sara?" he finally ventured.

"Yeah."

"Why were you trying to take your mind off me? I mean, why was I on your mind to begin with?"

Sara frowned and sat up, eyeing the back of his hanging head. "Do I really have to tell you again, Grissom? It's never done any good before."

Still staring at the floor, Grissom said, "Maybe it will do some good this time. Tell me."

A deep breath escaped Sara's lungs. Why, why, why? Was she dumb enough to start this conversation again? Well, yes, apparently. "You were on my mind, Grissom, because I've been, I don't know, obsessed with you since I came here. I've dropped the world's broadest hints, and you've either ignored them or shot me down. So I decided when you turned me down for dinner that I'd start believing you when you said 'no'."

Grissom cleared his throat. Oh, damn. "Sara . . ." What could he say to that? She was right, he had been ignoring and rejecting her for years.

"Exactly," she said softly after a few seconds of silence. "I don't know why you suddenly lose your voice when I talk to you, but it's really starting to piss me off. Just say _something_, I don't care whether it's good or bad."

"You know I'm not good at coming up with things to talk about on the spot," Grissom protested.

"What I _know_, Gil, is that I'm the only one you do this to. And you're asking me why I decided to move on from my little crush on you?" She fought the urge to launch her IV stand at him. "Stupid, Grissom. It's a stupid question, and it was stupid of me to take so long to figure things out."

"You don't have _anything_ figured out!" he said harshly, finally looking at her. "You only think you do."

"Then explain it to me."

He had lost track of what they were even arguing about. Rubbing his forehead, he said, "Look, Sara, I don't want to fight with you. God knows we do that enough when you're not sick. I just want to know . . ." He didn't know what he wanted to know. What he knew was that he wanted Sara to stop being so defensive and admit that she had feelings for him now. "I just want to know if you care about me."

"Yes," she said simply. No way in hell was she going to make this easy for him after all he'd done to her!

"Yes, you do have feelings for me?"

"Yes."

He licked his lips. He had expected something more than "yes." What was he supposed to say now? "Okay, you have feelings for me. What kind?"

"Let's back up, Grissom. I'm not answering another of your questions until you answer one of mine. Do _you_ have feelings for _me_, or was I right when I tried to forget you?"

"Uh . . ." The words wouldn't come out, as usual. What was wrong with him? He thought frantically, trying to get his mind working on this problem. 

Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "Yeah, that's what I thought." She had turned back into the pillows, hiding her face from him. "It's pointless, Grissom. If you're doing this for an ego trip, then consider your ego stroked. Yes, I've been practically in love with you for years. Hooray. If you can't say the same, then stop asking me about it."

"This is not about my ego, Sara!" he said, horrified that she believed it was. "It's about me and you."

"WHAT 'me and you,' Grissom? That's what I've been saying. You keep asking me questions, saying they're about us, but you refuse to let there _be_ an 'us.' You're playing with me and I really, really don't appreciate it."

"Maybe you're not the only one of us who's apprehensive about all this."

"Maybe I'm not, but I'm the one who's been putting herself on the line for three years despite the apprehension."

"Yes, you have been," he agreed. "And I haven't been doing anything about it. I'm trying, Sara, believe me. But after years of not having a woman in my life . . ."

Sara wouldn't give quarter. "Do you know when the last time I had a serious boyfriend was, Grissom? My sophomore year of college! Do you get this? It's been nearly twelve years since I've had anyone close to me. So don't tell me that _you're_ the one who doesn't have relationship experience, because I and everyone else in the whole damn world know that you're been screwing around with that dominatrix for the past three months."

"Why won't you just _listen_, Sara? I haven't been . . . doing that with Heather."

"I don't care whether you have or haven't at this point. All I want is to hear is either 'I have feelings for you too' or 'I don't have feelings for you.' Pick one, say it, and then leave."

Grissom muttered something. "What?" Sara asked. "If you're going to say it, say it loud enough for me to hear you."

"I said that I care about . . . have feelings for you too."

It was Sara's turn to forget how to speak and she stared at him, obviously shocked. Grissom took in her wide eyes and hanging jaw and correctly guessed that she hadn't thought she had a hope in the world of hearing him say that.

"Is it really such a shock, Sara?"

Sara nodded mutely.

"I'm sorry, then. I had thought that maybe you knew and just wanted to hear me say it. I, um, hope that you still feel the same now that you've heard me say that I do care about you?"

"So what do we do now?" Sara had found her voice and was struggling to absorb what had just happened.

"We could try going on a date – to dinner, like you asked me before," he said with a small smile.

"We could," she agreed. "First, though, would you do me a favor?"

Curious, Grissom said, "Of course, Sara."

"Would you kiss me so I know you're telling the truth?"

He started to protest, to say that she ought to believe him, but realized that he wanted to kiss Sara Sidle under any excuse he could scrape together. Leaning over, he looked into her eyes. "Did you doubt it?" he asked quietly, then kissed her.

The contact sent a shock through both of them, and they were reluctant to release each other. Finally, the sound of applause penetrated Sara's foggy brain and she gave Grissom's shoulder a push. "What the . . .?"

Looking toward the door, two shocked CSIs met the eyes of a doctor and a nurse, both applauding as hard as they could. 


End file.
